53. Irina

Chapter 53

Irina

T wo hours earlier (island time)

In a moment of sheer terror, as the Well began to blacken, its cavern darkened, and the mountain shook with anger, I closed my eyes and focused on the safety of home. The magic coursing through me responded, understanding my need, and I Traveled instantly. I was bewildered when I appeared in the storeroom of a candle shop. Several sticks dangling from lines strung across the ceiling clattered and smacked me in the head as I fought to gather my bearings.

A stream of questions flowed through my mind.

I was thinking of home when I Traveled; but that home, where I was born and raised by loving parents, and where those same parents were murdered, couldn’t still stand. That home had not existed for ten centuries.

So where had magic delivered me?

The room spun, and nausea threatened from the depths of my stomach.

I forced myself to calm.

There was no mountain about to crash down on me, so this was an improvement. I needed time to think and sort everything out.

I started by surveying the musty room.

A sliver of light trickled in from the partially covered window.

I ran a hand across the candles that assaulted me when I first arrived. The ancient, weathered look of the back of my own hand gave me a moment’s pause. I used to be so young and beautiful. Now, I wore the skin of an aged woman who would have passed through Death’s Door years ago had she not been protected by her island’s magic.

I longed for a day when men would turn as I entered a room, would stumble over themselves if I glanced their way, a day when I was wanted and desired. I closed my eyes and recalled my silky-smooth skin and lustrous black hair, my brilliant green eyes.

Then I sighed.

I had lost so much from my imprisonment.

When my attention returned to the candles above, and my fingers continued their journey, I was astonished for the second time in an hour.

Smooth, supple skin replaced the wrinkles.

My hand flew to my face, and I felt the same smoothness of youth I saw on my hands.

Had my magic answered my call again?

How was this . . . ?

On a whim, I held my palm before me and called moisture from the air, forming a swirling, wobbling ball of water. I gasped, and the ball fell apart, spilling on the dusty wooden floor.

That is not one of my Gifts. I have never been able to call or manipulate water.

My head spun at the implications.

Something had happened to me at the Well.

Far beyond taking revenge and breaking that wretched place apart, my true magic , the magic of my youth, had returned. I was powerful again, invincible so long as that blasted Phoenix stayed dead.

The boy who fought me—the one with Kels?—was powerful, too; but I saw him fall into the Well, dragged under the sickened waves with that witch.

Now, I was the last living Mage, the only true Mage left.

A wave of euphoria washed away the prior moment’s nausea as I realized I could do anything, be anything.

I could rule the Kingdom.

Spirits, I could rule them all.

That had been my goal all those years ago, and now I could accomplish it.

The only question was, did I want it? Destroying my enemies was so much more satisfying than ruling feckless, needy people. As Empress, I had to pretend to listen, pretend to care what people thought.

How tedious.

I would have to think on that.

I shook myself out of those thoughts and returned to cataloguing my present situation.

I stood in a storeroom.

By the combative wax sticks dangling above, I guessed it belonged to a candle maker’s shop. On the wall with a window, several barrels stood stacked on one another, likely ingredients for the maker’s craft. On the opposite wall sat a small writing desk littered with parchment.

I crossed the room and scanned a few sheets. Most were invoices or inventory tallies, even a few personal letters. I set the last of the letters down, careful to place it exactly as I found it.

Satisfied there was nothing of interest in the room, I crept to the door and peered onto the large sales floor.

The shop was still.

The counter stood empty.

I thought it odd for the owner to be absent in the middle of the day, but customs of this time might differ from my day.

Or maybe the maker had gone out for lunch or to run errands.

I really didn’t care.

I stepped into the sea of tables and candles and surveyed the room.

Nothing jumped out until I stepped toward the front door. Pinned to the wall where exiting patrons would see it was a flyer. I reached up and plucked it off the wall. Local Priests were holding a meeting to support their efforts in the city later that week. A hand-drawn sketch of a man in long robes was pictured to the side of the lettering.

The flyer proclaimed, “The day is coming soon. The One shall return, and the faithful shall take their rightful place by his side.”

I stopped reading as realization crashed into me.

The room shrank.

Anger bubbled and boiled inside me.

Danai, that bastard! He stole my prophecy.

That conniving, thieving snake.

In that moment, I knew my goal was not to rule.

I needed no crown.

I wanted one thing, and only one thing.

I wanted vengeance .