9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (54 page)

Had
Saylym betrayed him?

Was her act as a bungling witch just that? An act? It had
to be. It was the only thing that made sense. She’d tricked him into bonding
with her. If MeLora’s scheme to take control of the crown hadn’t worked, then
they had another way to access it. Through him and his heirs.

Any child born by a royal witch was in line for both
thrones, based on who was born first, unless some kind of edict was announced
by the ruling monarch at the time, declaring a different heir, or if they were
a descendent of a wizard. Although either throne could be inherited and
controlled by one ruler, history had recorded that the royal-blooded queens
preferred to remain behind the magical walls of Sanctuary, leaving Ru-Noc and
Droth to the
wakens
.

He
should have taken Saylym’s soul when he had the chance.

For sure, Saylym was of MeLora’s bloodline. Somehow, the
two of them were connected. Perhaps sisters. Hadn’t Dym said Saylym had a
beautiful sister? MeLora was definitely beautiful. She and Saylym must have
conspired together to overthrow the royal family in Droth.

That would mean Saylym was involved in his mother’s death.
He’d never forgive her for being a part of that. Yes, his lovely mate had to be
part of all that had happened to him, and he’d make her pay for her crimes if
it was the last thing he ever did.

Talon’s rage built and grew through the endless day and
the long hours of the lonely night as he waited in the cell, waited to be
whipped with the
Char-Flum-Rope.
A prisoner of magical chains, his
hatred grew and festered. He had a new target.

Saylym.

It
wasn’t until the dungeons began to brighten with the first filters of dawn's
faint light that he realized his thinking was completely off-kilter. He’d let
his hatred for MeLora rule his thoughts. He’d tasted Saylym’s soul. Her spirit
was as pure and clean as fallen snow.

How
could he have forgotten something so crucial?

There
was no way Saylym could ever be a part of something as black and evil as
MeLora. Yes, she was somehow related to the witch, but they were nothing alike.

He clenched his fists.

Fear hammered away at his mind now.

What if MeLora decided to go after Saylym?

He was stuck here in this damnable dungeon, his magic
stolen.

His mate was alone and vulnerable and there wasn’t a
damned thing he could do to help her.

Chapter Thirty-Six

After twenty people had been
executed in the Salem witch hunt, Thomas Brattle wrote a letter criticizing the
witchcraft trials. This letter had great impact on Governor Phips. He ordered
that reliance on spectral and intangible evidence no longer be allowed in trials.

~Salem Witchcraft Trials

October 8, 1692

Sanctuary

Saylym
studied the stone figure, captivated by the awesome power one could literally
feel emitting from the statue of Queen Shy-Ryn.

She
must have been a very powerful witch.

So
what had happened to destroy her, a betrayal from within?

That
was the only thing that made sense. It had to have been from someone she had
trusted greatly.

Saylym shivered. She could almost feel the statue breathe—as
if at any moment it would come to life and talk to her. Royalty and power
shimmered from within. She felt the life, a living, breathing thing.
Magnificent.

The woman’s image captured within the stone still commanded
obedience and respect.

Saylym
shook her head at her vivid imagination. It was a stone statue, for heaven’s
sake.

There
was nothing magical about it.

Slowly, she reached out to touch one of the stone hands.
Her hand froze in mid-air as she recalled Talon’s warning not to touch it, as
it was probably enthralled. Hesitating to touch the stone did her little good.
The rich jewels on the queen’s fingertips began to pulsate as if waking from a
deep sleep. The gems throbbed and glowed with vibrant color.

Saylym
stared in fascination at the brilliant jewels. Her breath lodged in her throat.
Dizziness assailed her. She stumbled back a step.

What
was happening?

She
should have listened to Talon and not came down here without him. He understood
these things. She understood nothing.

But the jewels had summoned her. She knew that somehow the
sparkling gemstones had called her here. The soft humming pulled at her like a
powerful magnet, drawing her closer to the statue. Her skin itched. Her blood
pounded, as if it had a life all of its own separate from her body and mind.
Tiny electrical currents zipped along her skin, raising the fine hairs on her
arms. The enthrallment spread through her, shooting clear to her toes and back
to her fingertips, raw and overpowering in its magnetic strength.

Saylym took a step closer toward the statue. Closer. Her
free will was left behind, stolen by the low droning of the jewels. She
couldn’t resist touching the woman's form.

As soon as her fingers contacted the warm stone,
shimmering lights rose from the semi-precious stones. They spun around, filling
the chamber, surrounding her, swirling and spinning and dancing like stars upon
water.

Dazzled by their brilliance, Saylym gasped, flung an arm
over her eyes in self-defense, and fell back a step. The blinding radiance
surged upward, then downward, and shot straight into her. The rush of power
flung her to the floor. She lay there gasping and shuddering as the force
invaded every tissue, stormed every cell, and flooded every nerve ending. She
vibrated from head to toe, too weak to struggle. The light lined her body in
sharp detail.

At last, the blinding light leapt from her body with a
loud
whoosh
. Saylym drew several long, deep breaths. It took several
moments for the dizziness to pass, and longer for her body to stop shaking and
glowing.

She blinked as she rose to her feet, staring at the statue.
Immediately she cupped her stomach, checking to see if her babies were all
right. They assured her they were fine, giving a mental nudge of love that
warmed her heart.

Looking around, she saw nothing had changed. The statue
still looked the same.

She
was the same. Right?

Breathe,
damn it! In. Out.

No. Something was different. But what?

Engorged with power, she thought if she touched something,
anything, it just might explode. Hell,
she
might explode she felt so
stuffed with energy. Her head was spinning with the charged coils racing there
in her mind.

Saylym
glanced down at her tingling fingertips. Her breath lodged in her chest. All
ten of her fingernails were encrusted with sparkling emeralds. “Bloody hell!” She
shook her hands, but the jewels remained firmly in place. Saylym blew on her
fingers trying to cool them. Her bloody nail beds felt as if they were being
roasted over hot coals.

Slowly,
she turned her gaze back on the stone statue. The emeralds on the stone queen’s
fingers were missing, somehow transferred to her.

But
how? Why?

“I
didn’t steal them, Your Majesty. I swear.” Saylym stared numbly at her hands.
She felt like a thief. Worse. A grave robber. “I don’t want your jewels. Take
them back.”

They are yours, Saylym Winslow. By right of royal
blood, they belong to you now.

Saylym blinked. Somehow, the statue sent a message to her,
silent words to her brain.

“Royal
blood?”

Had
Talon been right after all?

She
whirled, searching the chamber. “Where are you?
Who
are you? What are
you talking about?”

A tinkle of laughter filled her head.

Search your heart, blood of my blood. You know who and
what you are. You know who I am. I sit before you on what once was my throne of
pure gold. Think you I know not who you are? I know my bloodline, Saylym
Winslow. You’re my niece.

“No.
That’s not true.”

True.
See for yourself.

Abruptly, a mist filled the chambers then parted as if
clouds suddenly broke apart to reveal a picture of the past from centuries and
centuries of days gone by. She saw a complete record of the Winslow line,
generation after generation of royal witches. The history of the Salem witches
passed before her eyes, with the terrible carnage that took place in Salem
Village in 1692, the hanging of innocents. Horrible massacres by the
wakens
when they gained power and control and terminated even more witches. The virus
that crippled the witches’ ability to become pregnant, until the females of
their race was now at a critical level and near extinction.

She
saw and heard the orders given to Talon to terminate her, the choices given to
him, his decision and attempt to steal her spirit. She cried out a denial and
dropped to her knees, soul weary, and utterly devastated. Hot tears slid down
her face. He’d tried to kill her. The man who was supposed to cherish her above
all others, had tried to steal her soul.

Her
heart squeezed and twisted until it felt as if it bled tears. It took her a
moment to realize her heart
was
bleeding tears and that the tears on her
face had dried. Indeed, she was a real witch and witches could not cry. Now
that she’d gained some of her full powers, she was too near to becoming a
full-fledged witch to be able to shed tears ever again.

The
ache in her heart spread to her soul. Until this moment, she’d kept hope alive
in her heart that Talon would come to love her. He didn’t. He never would. He’d
done the guild’s bidding and nothing more. Handfast with her or terminate her.
He’d taken the choice he could live with and that was it.

Saylym released a shaky breath. “I have sisters. Where are
they?
Who
are they?”

Kirrah
and Nyra. That’s all I can tell you. I cannot see into the future. I can only
reveal the past to you. I cannot tell you where they are. That will be for you
to discover, Saylym Winslow, but you must find them and warn them. They are in
great peril.

“Where
is our mother?”

Another thing I cannot help you with. My death came
before her containment. The three of you will have to search together to find
her. You must seek her through the ages, through the hand-aged parchment of
time, through the walls of stone.

The
voice started to fade, drifting farther and farther away.

“Don’t
go! I need you,” Saylym cried.

Laughter echoed.
One last gift for you, Saylym Winslow,
to share with your sisters.

Saylym jumped back as a stone slab at the base of the
statue dropped open and slid smoothly toward her. On it laid a large,
dust-covered, leather-bound book. Saylym reached for the thick book with
unsteady hands. She blew off the layer of dust, flipped open the cover and felt
her jaw drop at the faded writing on the first page.

The script was barely legible, pale with age. The fragile
parchment pages were curled and ragged, aged with the passing of time. Saylym
blinked, swallowed hard, then read aloud.
“Part
One. Pages of history from the Winslow witches. Scrolled by Eldora Waters. 300-1692.”

You don’t need me, Saylym Winslow. Although you’re
powers aren’t fully restored, in time, they will come to you. Go now. Your
destiny awaits you. Trouble is near, for you and for your mate. Protect
yourself. Remember, where the heart is concerned, things are not always as they
appear. Trust in your feelings. Believe in your heart.

*
* * *

Saylym shut the door to her office, closing the cellar
from her sight. Tracing a loving hand over the book, she placed the diary in
the bottom drawer of the desk. She refused to read it until she found her
sisters and the three of them could share it together. What wonderful secrets
must be there, waiting to be discovered?

Bewildered,
she eyed the emeralds on her fingers. Though she tried, she couldn’t remove the
stunning jewels. It was as if they were superimposed into her nail beds. She
had a feeling they were there for her lifetime, to be passed on to her daughter
one day.

Trouble
is near. You must prepare and protect yourself. Now.

Queen Shy-Ryn’s warning filtered through Saylym’s mind.
How was she supposed to prepare for unseen trouble? And how was she to protect
herself when her mate had been sent to kill her?

There was no one she could trust, and no one she could
depend upon to help her.

She’d never felt more alone or more abandoned in her life.

Where
was Talon? Why hadn’t he returned?

Was
he already in trouble?

If so, then what kind of trouble was he in?

How
could she help him?

She
snorted. Why would she want to? He’d tried to destroy her.

But he didn’t kill me.

Oh, but he tried. He meant to kill me. Who could say if
or when he might change
his mind?

Could
she forgive him for his deception? Could she trust him with her life?

She didn’t have the answers. At the moment, her poor heart
felt too bruised and battered to even contemplate forgiveness.

Trust? Well, Talon had certainly blown that one.

But
she couldn’t bear the thought that he might be in danger.

If Talon was in trouble, why hadn’t he contacted her
somehow to help him? He should turn to his mate when he was in need, but he
would never do that. His mate was a bungler of magic, a blonde bit of useless
fluff. That was the truth in his opinion. And that hurt.

She
was an
Impure,
not worthy of his love. He’d refused to trust her with
his heart, so why would he trust her with his life? Everything came back to
that one single word. Trust. This was something they both lacked in whopping
numbers.