A Witch's Word

A BIRD’S EYES

After what could be considered her first happy day in Novtexo, Edith had been delighted to find that they had guests to their banquet that evening. Madoc, Prince of the Werewolves, looked reasonably enraged, a general carrying diplomacy with utter discomfort. To many he would appear unapproachable and sour by the fate of his homeland, but Edith knew him well and supported his cause, so it wasn’t unexpected when he raised his glass in her direction. Much to the annoyance of Cadmus, she returned the gesture with a smile.

“Usually, he refuses to stay,” King Nokon whispered into her ear, criticising the prince’s manners.

“That is because Barrett always stays, and you cannot expect Madoc to drink and dine with the lycan who not only tried to execute his family but also has the true heir to Lycanis imprisoned. I would not dine with such a man either. I’d rather starve. I’m sure Madoc’s does, often. Also, there is no need to whisper, he is an alpha werewolf. There’s nothing in this building he won’t hear,” Edith replied.

To prove her point, Madoc snorted into his wine glass. Humoured by his friend’s fearlessness.

Grzegorz, diplomat to the Vampire democracy was a new player in the game of politics to Edith. Vampires considered themselves too evolved and wise to need magic, believing in honesty and transparency. Although many had certain skills that Edith would have claimed were magic, they were less inclined to believe her. Consequently, there was very little trading between Sourcero and Vostu. However, it didn’t escape her notice that the vampire looked exhausted, more than she realised was possible for the undead to be. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before he offered his thanks to Nokon and left the impromptu party.

It was a night of watching and being watched. For all realms were focussed on the newly married couple and the strength of their union.

“Care to dance?” Cadmus proposed.

Staring straight into Lizzip’s eyes, she allowed her husband to lead her to the floor.

His hand was warm against her waist and his footwork was adept; she moved where he led her, matching his practiced rhythm but wishing she had paid better attention to her dance master in her own lessons. Soon, they had to switch partners and Edith found herself being spun by Reid. Although he too was smooth on the floor, the concentration on his face communicated that it was not accomplished with ease, and she was sure he was internally counting to keep pace. Once again, she turned and found herself in the hold of Madoc. An equal partner in the dance, for they had been to many such events as children, and both loathed their etiquette lessons with the same fervent passion.

“Your mother has a message. She wants to know why there is a delay from her last instruction,” Madoc whispered, gently.

“Tell her I am still not sure if I am looking for a person or a grave. Secondly, I’ve been waiting for the purple moon. I need to feed my strength for the spell I need.”

Before she could see his reaction, she was once again swept up in the arms of her husband. Noticing the subtle nod, she assumed that the message had landed and would be passed on. Still, the irritation of being ordered around surreptitiously angered Edith. Did her mother trust her so little? Did her need for vengeance, eclipse the concern she had for the child she had raised as a daughter? She had been sold as a bride and directed as a spy into the most dangerous of the realms and yet the trust was so frail that she had to urge her daughter to find results. It left a bitterness in Edith’s stomach that burnt. Madoc’s smiles, Lizzip’s anger and Cadmus’ care couldn’t sooth it.

Eventually, Edith found a way to leave the festivities. Despite making it to her room, she could still hear the music below, and this magnified when she opened her windows wide to look at the bright moon, decorated in a purple halo. The shine covered her face, and her skin tremored with the power gifted by the glow. Closing her eyes, she absorbed the power given by nature into her awaiting body. Waiting until she was filled to the brim with the energy she would need for the spell she had to cast, she marvelled at the magnitude of the vigour it infused her with. Healing in its benevolence all the doubt and insecurities she had. Finally, when she felt her strength itching to burst out of her, she stepped away from the window and dragged her chair against the door handle. Flicking her wrist, the fire roared in its stone cage and Edith sat before it calling her glass birds over to her.

Such a spell was multi-layered and Edith was conscious that even though her body was willing her to spend it recklessly, she had to store it to complete her task. Stroking the breast of her glass bird, she envisioned the wings fluffing with feathers, its eyes twitching and its plume fading into black and purple hues so it could hide in the night. Shadows tracked the flickering wings as the ornament stretched into its new form. Animated chirps brought life to the room. The seatherny brought with it the glow of accomplishment. Opening her eyes, Edith allowed the bird to stand atop of her finger and aligned the creature’s eyes with her own. Allowing the magic to settle between them, the bird stood mesmerised by the green-eyed witch. When the stillness verged on the resplendent, and the room seemed to still for the magnitude of the power that connected them, Edith took a deep breath. Synchronised, the bird and woman blinked three times in unison.

One.

Two.

Three.

Edith’s vision stretched and globed as if she were gazing through a clear marble. The periphery of her vision became vibrant. Her body was her own, but her mind and eyes were another’s. Sightless, she stared at the ceiling, but her vision was soaring through the skies. Leading her vessel to the East Wing, she kept to the shadows and silence. The ledge of the window called to her, and she landed next to the sill where a pool of burnt orange shades flickered with aggressive invitation.

Peeking through the mottled glass, Edith could see the obscured figures within the room. A maid who was turning down the bedsheets. One that she had not seen before. There was very little furniture, only a bed and a chair that wasn’t being used. The fire was seeping heat into the room at an alarming temperature, but the figure huddled next to it pulled the black shawl closer to her body as if the room was chill rather than in the depths of fever. Cradled in her arms was a pink shawl. Rocked as if it held an infant, although clearly the lack of shape and definition made this an impossible prospect. She was a woman soothing an emptiness, and the sight made Edith’s heart tighten in sorrow.

Gently, the maid coaxed the huddled woman towards the bed, guiding her beneath the covers and tucking the sheets around her as if the cold was an enemy that only care could defend against. An obtrusive knock disturbed the routine, and to Edith’s surprise, Nokon was at the door. His appearance seemed to have softened compared to his usual grainy ruthlessness. With a tenderness that she didn’t know he was capable of, he lay on the bed, next to his wife, caressing her forehead with soft kisses. A chest of grief within the queen unlocked as she howled in the arms of her husband. Her hands slamming against his chest as she pinned him down with her legs holding him closer. Needing him and hating herself for it in excruciating equal measure. Ryoko, the queen’s dragon, roared in sympathy, circling the tower as Edith had seen her do many nights before. A dragon with a ghost rider.

Nokon flicked his fingers at the maid, signalling her dismissal as the night’s routine continued without the need for a witness. Urging her bird to follow the maid, it pecked at the corner of the window rapidly, trying to pull the wood from the frame. Coinciding with a gust of wind, the window gave way and Edith soared through the room, managing to shadow the maid as the door shut behind them. Twisting down the serpentine stairwell, Edith searched for the details she would remember when she made the journey in person. At the bottom of the coiled steps, a door was pulled open but didn’t allow the light to flood in as she had expected. Instead, there was another wall of darkness. The maid with experienced hands pulled what was obviously fabric to one side, allowing Edith entrance into the more familiar hallway, before going to the servant’s quarters. Perching on the candelabra, she turned to see the tapestry of a white dragon cuddling her two eggs. A mother and her children. It was a scene she had past many times. Thankfully, Edith knew exactly how to get to her mother-in-law’s quarters.

Racing back to Edith’s room, the bird stretched her wingspan, struggling to fight against the draining magic that had been expelled. Landing in the witch’s palm, vision was restored to Edith’s eyes as she focussed on the intricate pattern of the ceiling. Her hand felt weighty with the glass ornament protected in her palm. Having little energy to move, she lay still contemplating her next steps. Curling into herself, she let the warmth of the fire chase away the cold night’s chill. Her dreams were filled with the sounds of a mother’s tears and a sister’s sacrifice.