Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters Book 2) Page 5

  Medea’s head snapped around. “What are you saying, darling? You think your brother and sister are behind this?”

  “Isolation has never worked for Darnuith,” Tavyss said carefully. “Its witch queen needs to take her place as a leader of her kingdom. She must have a relationship with the rest of Ouros. I do think this was a warning and a threat. It’s even possible Paragon already knows about me. If the servant sent a falcon to Eleanor and Brynhoff before he poisoned you—”

  “We have to question this man. We have to know the truth before we can act.” Medea scowled.

  “I agree,” Tavyss growled.

  Rhys met Circe’s gaze, but he had no answers for the questions in her eyes. “How can we help?” he asked.

  Medea toyed with the gem around her neck, sending gold light dancing along the walls of the room. “I’m glad you asked. I was about to ask you for a favor, and I think you’ll need Circe’s help if you agree to it.”

  “What kind of a favor?” Rhys asked.

  “I want you to make a truth serum. When we question this man Lazys, I want to know exactly who was pulling his strings.”

  Chapter

  Seven

  Truth serum wasn’t easy to make. Circe had never mixed such a complex potion, and to her chagrin, Rhys had no experience at the task either. But the apothecary’s grimoire—inherited from his predecessor—contained the spell for one, and they perfected the potion on their third try.

  Together, they escorted Medea and Tavyss into the dungeon, a vial of ruby-red liquid in Rhys’s hand. The formula looked and smelled as the book described, but testing it was impossible. Without knowing what side effects the potion might have, they couldn’t safely try it out on anyone they trusted, and anyone they didn’t trust would not make for a valid test. But Circe’s gut told her it was right and would work. She’d learned to trust her instincts when it came to potions.

  Lazys was a rat of a man with a nose and chin that narrowed to a point and dark brown eyes that looked black in the shadows. His hair hung in stringy strands to his jaw. Slumped at the back of the cell, he seemed utterly worn down by his imprisonment, although the conditions in the dungeon weren’t overly harsh. Circe noted the space was clean and the air was temperate. The man had clean water to drink.

  “Lazys!” Tavyss yelled through the bars. “Are you ready to talk?”

  “Fuck you,” the man snapped.

  The guards opened the cell and rushed in, seizing Lazys and tipping his head back. Rhys poured the potion into his mouth, and the guards held his mouth closed until he swallowed. When they released him, he thrashed against their hold. “Filthy bastards. Fucking vermin, all of you,” he muttered.

  Medea stepped to the bars. “Why did you try to poison me?”

  The man gritted his teeth and writhed in his chair, his face turning red as he fought the compulsion to speak. Medea looked at her, and Circe held up her hand. “Give it a chance to work.”

  “You’re unworthy!” the man blurted. “You don’t belong here. You’re mated to a traitor to Paragon. A witch mated to a dragon! Everyone knows what you’re trying to do. First, you take Darnuith, then Paragon, then Ouros. Someone had to stop you.”

  “That isn’t true,” Medea argued, but the man refused to even look at her.

  “Who sent you?” Tavyss growled.

  The man shook his head, fighting the serum. “The true… and rightful… heir to the throne.”

  “Eleanor? Or Brynhoff?”

  He shook his head. “They know what you’ve done, traitor! They know who you are. I told them you were here. It’s only a matter of time before they come for you.”

  Something wasn’t adding up. Circe glanced at Rhys and saw the same questions in his eyes. “Where did you obtain the poison you put in the queen’s glass?” Circe yelled.

  The man grunted in pain, clamping his hands over his mouth. His face turned red, then purple.

  “I think he’s spelled not to answer,” Rhys said, “The potion we gave him and the concealment spell are warring within him.”

  “Tell me!” Circe demanded. “Who?”

  As if compelled by some unholy force, Lazys stood and ran at the wall at full speed, headfirst. His skull cracked against the stone, and he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor. Blood pooled near his head.

  “Fuck!” Tavyss paced, wings outstretched as the guards rushed in and knelt beside the prisoner. Rhys pushed his way through, wand drawn, and placed his fingers on the man’s neck.

  “He’s dead, my queen,” Rhys said.

  Circe couldn’t suppress a gasp. “What kind of spell is strong enough to force a man to crush his own skull against the wall rather than give up a name?”

  “One created by a powerful witch or wizard.” Medea’s scowl grew more pronounced as she watched the man’s blood seep between the stones.

  “One commissioned by my evil sister and half-wit brother,” Tavyss said. “This is just wicked enough to be Eleanor’s doing.”

  Medea turned to him, her face paling. “Tavyss, he implied they already know.”

  Tavyss shook his head. “Zelaria is right. We can’t put it off any longer. We have to meet with them, Medea. If we don’t, this man won’t be the last they send for us. They will not stop until one of us is dead.”

  Circe saw the moment her sister came to terms with the truth. She shuddered.

  Despite her obvious trepidation, Medea raised her chin defiantly and flattened her lips into a straight line. “If Eleanor wants to play, we play. We’ll send a falcon today. It’s time for Paragon to learn exactly who they are dealing with.”

  Circe knew that look. Medea had once faced the goddess Hera head on with that same look in her eyes. Her sister turned on her heel and strode toward the stairs, her spine ramrod straight. “It looks like the queen is going to punch back,” she murmured to Rhys.

  He slipped his hand into hers, and she clung to it desperately. “Fates watch over us all, I think she has to.”

  Days later, Circe found herself in a carriage rolling toward the Obsidian Palace. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Tavyss and Medea asked her and Rhys to come along. Someone from the Palace had tried to poison them. They might try again. Between the two of them, she and Rhys were the most likely to recognize another poisoning attack. Not to mention, Rhys could treat a number of ills caused by curses or evil enchantments. He carried a host of herbs, roots, and potions, including the antidote for gila vine poisoning, in his mobile apothecary basket.

  They were cleared through the front gate by a serious-looking dragon in a red and black uniform and rolled through the front garden to the side entrance of the palace, where more uniformed guards escorted them inside. Circe couldn’t help but gawk as they crossed a stunning veranda of solid obsidian that offered a stunning view of Hobble Glen and the Dark Mountains of Darnuith. Circe thought that if she squinted, she might see the Grimtwist Forest beyond the Sanguine River.

  “Tavyss.” A dark-eyed soldier in a uniform adorned with medals appeared before them. He gave a shallow bow, but the shadows in his eyes made Circe bristle. Whoever this man was, he did not want good things for Tavyss.

  “Scoria,” Tavyss said by way of greeting. “Is my sister in the dining room?”

  Everyone here knew Tavyss, knew he was the eldest brother and the true heir. Yes, he’d abdicated his throne centuries ago to escape the obligations of his birth, but there was no question that Eleanor and Brynhoff would be far more comfortable with him dead. Circe felt in her sleeve for her wand, taking comfort in its presence as well as Rhys’s big body by her side. He seemed to sense her unease and placed a supportive hand at the center of her back.

  “I’ll escort you to the dining room,” Scoria said. “Eleanor and Brynhoff will join you in a moment. They’ve been called into an emergency meeting of the Council of Elders.” Scoria led them into a massive room. At the center, a table constructed of a single slab of deep-red wood with an unusual zigzagging grain that was both exotic and
beautiful waited for them. Opulent gold plates and jeweled goblets glinted in the light of silver candelabra. Candles flickered and cast soft light across the spread. Everything sparkled.

  Circe had long understood that dragons were obsessed with treasure, and this dining room testified to that assumption. It was like standing aboard a pirate ship among stolen booty, a hodgepodge of gold, silver, and jeweled elements reflecting off the polished black stone walls. It overwhelmed the senses. She longed for something green, something alive.

  At Scoria’s behest, they sat and were left alone in the room.

  “It’s common for the king and queen of Paragon to listen in on their guests’ conversations before they enter a room,” Tavyss said quietly, although not so quiet that he was necessarily sure he couldn’t be heard. Why hide it? He’d grown up here. He knew the way they played the game.

  Rhys pulled out four small, clear crystals from his bag and dropped one into each of their hands. “For luck,” he said.

  Luck. Circe gave him a knowing smile. The crystals were enchanted to change color in the presence of poison.

  The door at the back of the room opened, and a man announced, “Eleanor, Queen of Paragon.”

  A tall woman with a round face and silver eyes strode into the room. Her purple dress billowed around her as if someone had frosted her in fabric.

  “Hello, brother.” She strode directly to Tavyss and gave him a stiff and awkward hug that made Circe’s stomach clench. There was nothing warm in that embrace, and if Tavyss weren’t a dragon, she’d have worried the queen might stab him when she pulled him close.

  “Eleanor,” Tavyss said. “And where is our brother?”

  Eleanor threaded her fingers in front of her hips. “He can’t make it. Paragonian business.” She turned to Medea. “Finally, I am to meet the new queen of Darnuith.” She extended her hand.

  Even Circe knew that dragons didn’t usually shake hands. Witches did. By Eleanor offering her hand, she was showing respect for their customs. Still, Circe had a bad feeling about this. It was disingenuous. She reminded herself that it was likely this woman who had attempted to kill her sister.

  Medea shook Eleanor’s hand tentatively. “I look forward to a positive relationship between our two kingdoms,” she said flatly.

  Eleanor gave a shallow bow and then took her place at the head of the table, where a servant pulled out a chair for her. “Unfortunately, the relationship between our kingdoms is already strained.”

  Circe’s jaw clenched, but her sister never lost her cool.

  “I was under the impression you invited us here for a peaceful meeting,” Medea said. “If your intention isn’t peace, perhaps Tavyss and I should leave.” She rose from her chair.

  “Sit down,” Eleanor commanded. “I said the relationship was strained. Unless you wish to sour it completely, you will listen to what I have to say.”

  Tavyss pressed his dark bronze hands to the table, his chest rising and falling with his calming breaths. He turned fiery gold eyes on his sister. “What exactly is your complaint, sister?”

  “You, Tavyss. You are the rightful heir to the kingdom of Paragon.”

  Circe swallowed hard. The food hadn’t even been served yet and Eleanor was going straight for the jugular.

  “I’ve told you time and time again, I’ve abdicated. I have no intention of ever ruling Paragon. The kingdom is yours and Brynhoff’s.” Tavyss balled his hands into fists on the table, face flushed with frustration.

  Eleanor scoffed. “Oh, Tavyss.” She shook her head. “You have always suffered under the delusion that you enjoy more freedom than you actually do.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at her glass. A servant poured wine for her the color of blood. She lifted the glass and took a sip while the servant filled the rest of the glasses.

  “I am free,” Tavyss said. “I denounced my Paragonian citizenship. I am now a citizen of Darnuith.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Dear, dear brother, you still don’t understand. Villania always did coddle you. As did Falkon.”

  “What do Mother and Uncle have to do with this? They are no longer king and queen.”

  She held out her hand, and one of the uniformed guards placed a scroll in it. “They now serve on the Council of Elders, and only hours ago, they confirmed the interpretation of the old law.”

  Tavyss’s fists sprouted talons that dug into the wood table. “Old law?”

  “You can’t abdicate,” Eleanor snapped. “Not for an opposing throne and not if you’ve already sired an heir to the kingdom.”

  Circe shook her head and stared at Medea. How did Eleanor even know about the baby? Had she heard correctly? Did this woman who had almost killed her, now suggest that her child had a claim to Paragon?

  Tavyss’s face paled. “Liar.”

  “Brynhoff and I had the council confirm only minutes ago.” She handed the scroll to Tavyss. “An heir can abdicate provided he does not rule anywhere in the five kingdoms. It’s obvious, if you think about it. It ensures against civil war. One brother cannot break from the royal family and found another kingdom. The law was written to account for younger heirs who might have their eyes set on acquiring a throne of their own, but it applies to you as well.”

  Medea scowled. “Then Tavyss hasn’t broken the law. He is my consort, not king of Darnuith. He has no governing power. Darnuith is ruled only by its queen.”

  “Ah, but a little bird told me you are pregnant, Medea. A falcon, to be exact, from a sympathizer within your kingdom.”

  Circe exchanged glances with Rhys. So, it was true. Lazys had communicated everything to Paragon before his arrest. It had to have been Lazys. And the Council of Elders knew about Tavyss and the baby. She felt sick. This was the worst-case scenario.

  “Who told you this?” Tavyss growled, as if he didn’t know about the man whom, only days ago, they’d watched bash his own head in.

  “Don’t deny it. I can hear the whelp’s heartbeat.” Eleanor’s eyes narrowed on Medea’s belly.

  “I don’t deny it.” Tavyss’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “I asked who the sympathizer was.”

  Eleanor ignored his request for a name. “The child in Medea’s womb is the heir to Paragon.” She turned her gaze on Circe, who ground her teeth, and then on Rhys. “As witches, you couldn’t possibly understand how rare dragon children are. I may be queen, but I have not yet found a consort of my own. Even when I do, a successful pregnancy is never guaranteed among our kind. The old law is designed to ensure the throne is never left empty.”

  Medea scowled. “What exactly are you suggesting, Eleanor? Are you saying that you wish to cast off Brynhoff and take Tavyss as king?” She said it incredulously, like the very idea was ridiculous, but Circe saw the exact moment when she realized the truth of the matter.

  Not a hint of humor colored Eleanor’s expression when she answered. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, Medea. Tavyss is the rightful king of Paragon, and he must do his duty or be put to death.”

  Chapter

  Eight

  Throughout his life, Rhys had struggled to act in a crisis. He tended to overthink things, which left him hesitant and fraught with indecision. But it took no deliberation on his part to leap in front of Circe when Tavyss shot out of his chair and Eleanor sprang to her feet.

  “Be careful what you wish for, Eleanor.” Tavyss’s dark wings stretched above his head, forming a wall of leathery flesh between Eleanor and Medea. From everything Rhys had heard about dragons and their mates, he had no desire to be in the vicinity of one whose protective instincts had been triggered. He glanced toward the exit and found an armed guard waiting there.

  Circe slipped her hand into his.

  “I don’t waste my time on wishes, Tavyss,” Eleanor said. “I am too focused on what could be. What will be. If you take the throne, Medea will be your consort, effectively uniting our kingdom with Darnuith. Your heir will be the next ruler of Paragon.”

  Medea got to her feet, wan
d drawn. “You’d force Tavyss into an impossible situation. Where would he live? Apart from me? By your side? Would you take my child from me too? Ruin our marriage, our mating? Cause us to fight each other if there is ever a political divide?”

  “Lower your wand, witch, unless you’d like to pit it against dragon fire,” Eleanor hissed, her voice gritty and raw. Rhys drew Circe closer to him when Eleanor’s silver eyes flashed with light. That was her inner dragon coming to the surface.

  Tavyss reached behind him and gently pushed Medea’s wand aside, shaking his head. Smart move. None of them needed a war today or to be eaten by Eleanor’s dragon if she shifted inside this room. Already, the temperature had risen several degrees. Sweat dripped from Rhys’s temple.

  “There must be another way to appease the old law, sister, that doesn’t involve tearing my family apart.” Tavyss said the word sister like it was a curse.

  Eleanor raised her chin. “Simple. Medea must step down as queen of Darnuith and serve as your consort. She’ll live here, in Paragon.”

  “How dare you suggest such a thing!” Circe snapped. “My sister was named queen by the Fates. You would offend the gods of Darnuith to appease the Goddess of the Mountain?”

  Rhys squeezed her hand. “Careful,” he warned. Eleanor’s eyes were glowing again.

  “I am told that queens have stepped down before,” Eleanor said. “The Fates will name another. In Paragon, our goddess demands rule by blood. Not so in Darnuith. You or your healer might be chosen should your sister step down, and there would be no harm to your kingdom.”

  Circe looked as if she might crumple. She trembled in his arms, and a quick glance at Medea showed her visibly shaken as well. Rhys’s blood began to boil. This wasn’t a diplomatic dinner. It was an ambush. Eleanor might as well have punched all of them in the gut. Rhys could no longer bite his tongue.

  “You’ve given our queen and consort a lot to think about, Eleanor, but as the queen’s personal physician, I must demand you allow us to leave so that she can consider this matter in a less stressful environment. If she indeed carries the heir to Paragon, I think you’ll agree she should be careful with her health.”