Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters Book 2) Read online

  Eleanor clasped her hands in front of her hips. “Very well, apothecary. Take your patient. I’d so looked forward to our dining together, but perhaps you’re right. Tavyss and Medea do have a lot to think about.”

  Rhys had ushered Circe halfway toward the door when Eleanor addressed Tavyss again. “You have three days. Brynhoff and I have already shared your good news with the Council of Elders. They will expect your decision at their next gathering.”

  Talons sprang from Tavyss’s knuckles, and a growl snapped from his throat. “Just tell me one thing, Eleanor. What does Brynhoff think of this plan you have to replace him with me? Does he realize he won’t be king anymore if you succeed?”

  She made a sound like a dark laugh, the corner of her mouth curling. “Brynhoff will do as I tell him to do. Why do you suppose he’s not here?”

  Tavyss shook his head. “You’d sell out your own brothers for more power. This is low, even for you.”

  “Everything in life is about power.” Eleanor’s silver eyes took on the quality of frozen steel. “The sooner you realize that, Tavyss, the better off you will be. Power is far more important than wealth. All the riches in the world are useless if they can’t be wielded to bend a knee or force a hand. Power transcends love. Love wanes. Love dies. Have you thought about what will happen to you if she dies?” Eleanor pointed her chin at Medea. “Love is a liability. It is meaningless. Long after her bones turn to dust, you will endure, and this mountain will likely outlive us both. Power is endurance. Power is strength. Power is eternity. And I plan to take it where I can get it.”

  “You’re mad,” Tavyss spat. Rhys had to agree. His skin was itching to get out of this room.

  “Three days, Tavyss. Either you announce to the Council of Elders that you claim your right to the throne, or we come for Medea and the whelp.”

  Rhys was pressed against the door now, drenched in sweat from the mounting heat, Circe at his side. The door suddenly gave, and they spilled out into the hall. And then Tavyss and Medea were beside them. They rushed back to the carriage and fled toward Darnuith.

  “Is it true?” Rhys asked once they were safely beyond the gates of the Obsidian Palace. “What she said about Paragonian law?”

  Tavyss frowned. “Yes. I’d forgotten the old law, but the scroll she showed me was authentic. Seeing it triggered lessons from my youth. What she said is true. The pregnancy changes everything. I can abdicate the throne, but our child cannot. Medea is carrying the heir to Paragon. Eleanor’s spies have confirmed the pregnancy, and she’s shared both my identity and the existence of the baby with the Council of Elders. Paragon will not let this go. If I don’t comply, they will attack Darnuith. They will do anything in their power to seize Medea and keep her in their custody until the heir is born.”

  “Fuck.” Medea punched the seat, her eyes brimming with tears. “That evil, manipulative worm!”

  Rhys’s heart pounded in his chest. He was a healer, not a warrior. He knew nothing of politics, but at the moment, he hated Eleanor more than he’d ever hated anyone. Nothing about it made sense to him. Old law or not, why would Eleanor want a reluctant co-regent? Why had she arranged to have Medea poisoned if the heir was so important to her and her people? It wasn’t the right time to ask these questions, so he simply asked, “What will you do?”

  “There’s only one thing she can do,” Circe said. Rhys turned his head to look at her and didn’t recognize the woman he saw. Her eyes had filled with shadows, and her lips pulled back from her teeth in a sneer. “You need to use the book, Medea. You have unlimited power hanging around your neck. Show that bitch what happens when you mess with a Tanglewood sister.”

  Ever since she’d come to Darnuith from the Garden of the Hesperides, Circe had wondered at how the witches here worshiped the Fates. The entire concept of the deities was that they controlled each person’s future. With the right sacrifices and offerings, a witch could sway the gods to his or her side. She supposed it was terribly bad luck that she considered all the traditions around the Fates to be complete hooey. The events of her life had proven to her that if the Fates existed, they cared not about slaughtered lambs or offerings of fresh fruit. Based on her experience, the Fates loved chaos. They thrived on pain.

  And what of Paragon’s Goddess of the Mountain? Did the will of the Fates trump the will of Paragon’s goddess? Who would win a war of the gods? For that matter, the goddess Circe was her namesake. The blood of the goddess ran in her veins and her sisters’. Didn’t that give them the right and the power to challenge the law of any god?

  Circe scoffed. “All I heard today was that according to some old law, the Goddess of the Mountain wants Tavyss and his child to rule Paragon. Well, the Fates chose Medea for the throne of Darnuith. I don’t see any way to appease them both. That means you are justified, Medea. Use the book.”

  Rhys frowned. “Medea could renounce her throne. There is no law against it in Darnuith. The ritual of the Sacred Lots would happen again, and a new queen would be chosen.”

  Circe gasped. “That’s vilt fodder! It’s blackmail.”

  “Maybe there’s another way,” Tavyss said. He rested his elbows on his knees and threaded his fingers at the knuckles.

  Her sister got that look she did when she didn’t like what was coming. Her lips pressed together, and her eyes tightened at the corners. “What way is that?”

  “I can take back the throne and change the law.”

  The carriage turned eerily quiet. All eyes locked on Tavyss.

  “If I become king, I will have the power to propose changes to the old law. Once I’m on the throne, I will make it so that Eleanor can lead Paragon unilaterally. Then I will return to Darnuith and to your side to serve as your consort.”

  Rhys stiffened, his eyes drifting to the window. “What happens when the baby is born?”

  Tavyss’s expression grew dark. “If I am no longer regent, then my son is no longer heir. I will make sure of it.”

  “If the Council of Elders passes such a change,” Circe added skeptically. Hate surged in her veins like acid. She was furious on her sister’s behalf. What had happened today was nothing short of cruel.

  “It’s the most peaceful solution,” Tavyss said.

  “Fuck peace,” Circe snapped. “Use the book and make the old law go up in flames. You have the power of the gods around your neck. Flatten Paragon to the ground if you have to. Use it.”

  Beside her, Rhys stared speechless in her direction. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand what they could do.

  Medea met her gaze and held it. Her eyes burned with fierce blue fire. Eleanor underestimated them. The bond between her and her sister thrummed, and Circe had no doubt that somewhere in Darnuith, Isis could feel it too. She reached across the space and took her sister’s hand.

  Nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be.

  Chapter

  Nine

  “Come in. I’ll fix you something to eat,” Circe opened the door wider for Rhys when they arrived at her cottage. He still looked overwhelmed by what had happened in Paragon. He stood in the doorway, staring at her as the carriage pulled away. “Isis is still out. Probably hunting with Brody. Their hunting party sometimes spends the night on the ice ridge. The elderbeasts are easier to take down at daybreak.”

  She should have been starving considering they hadn’t had a single bite to eat or drink in Paragon, but her stomach was too busy tying itself in knots for hunger to set in. She was relieved when he followed her inside. The thought of being alone right now made her shudder.

  “You’re in luck. I had a delivery from the market just yesterday. I’ll fix us something.”

  He nodded. “We should eat.”

  She grinned at him. “I’m still getting used to the local ingredients, but I think you’ll enjoy it.” She pulled some cubed elderbeast out of the icebox, along with an assortment of roots and vegetables, and tossed it into her cauldron. Shoving a log into the belly of the stove, she used her
wand to ignite it and swung the pot over the fire.

  “Can I help with something?” Rhys asked softly.

  “No.” She smiled at him, casting a spell into the cauldron to accelerate the cooking. “It practically cooks itself. Wine?”

  He took a seat at the table. “Please.”

  “Do you want to know what kind I have?”

  “Doesn’t matter. After tonight, I’ll drink anything.” He stared at the ceiling, looking miserable.

  She popped a cork and poured a glass of deep red. “What’s bothering you? I sense it’s more than just what happened in Paragon. You bristled when Tavyss suggested trying to change the law.” She handed him the glass.

  He sighed. “I’m a simple man, Circe. A healer and apothecary. I don’t know anything about politics.”

  “But?”

  “But I don’t think Tavyss appreciates how bad it would look for him to become king then return here to rule by Medea’s side. Darnuith has always been ruled by a single monarch. Even if he calls himself her consort, it will be viewed by the people of Darnuith as if she is a sock puppet for Paragon. They’ll never accept it.”

  She sighed. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I’m afraid the only thing Medea can do to avoid war with Paragon is to step down.”

  “Or put on a show of force so powerful Eleanor, Brynhoff, and the Council of Elders have no choice but to change the law themselves.”

  Rhys sipped the wine she’d poured for him, looking contemplative. “You said she had a book powerful enough to do so. What did you mean by that?”

  No one had ever sworn Circe to secrecy about the golden grimoire, but she hesitated. It was never a good idea to flaunt power. She’d only mentioned the book in the carriage because she trusted Rhys. The fact that Medea and Tavyss hadn’t corrected her or made any indication they wanted her to keep it a secret from Rhys meant they trusted him too. Still, how could she explain it without scaring him away?

  “I’ve told you before that my sisters and I were born in the Garden of the Hesperides, Hera’s garden.”

  “Yes.”

  “Our father is a descendant of the sorceress Medea, and our mother is a descendant of the goddess Circe.”

  He choked on his wine. “Sorry. Did you just say you are the descendant of an actual goddess?”

  Circe nodded. “When we became young adults, we quickly exhausted the magical knowledge of our parents, and so we cast a spell to conjure a more powerful teacher, specifically a book that could teach us what they could not. We conjured Hera’s golden grimoire.”

  This time, Rhys carefully placed his glass down, the liquid in its belly rippling until he pulled his trembling hand away. He kept his face carefully impassive, but his voice was strained when he asked, “Hera, as in the queen of the gods?”

  Circe nodded. “That’s why we came here. Hera can’t set foot on Ouros thanks to an ancient celestial law. The book is ours. It came to us. We earned it.”

  His throat bobbed on a swallow. “Where is this book now?”

  “Medea wears it around her neck. We spelled it into a diamond she had mounted on a chain so that she could carry it with her always.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought its glow was exceptional.”

  “That’s because it holds the power to flatten Paragon’s mountain to dust.” Circe scoffed and crossed her arms. “So, you see, there is no need for Medea to bow to anyone. She’s been kind thus far, reluctant to exercise the full power at her disposal. But now they’ve pushed us too far. She needs to retaliate.”

  His face fell. “But people would die.”

  “Paragonians will die because of their cruel and heartless queen.”

  Rhys’s eyes narrowed, and the look of disappointment on his face cut to the bone. “You can’t mean that. They’re innocent, Circe. They didn’t choose Eleanor. She claimed the throne by blood.”

  Circe sipped her drink. “I’m so sick of my sister being shoved around. It’s not fair what they are doing to her, Rhys.”

  He picked up his glass and tossed back the rest of the wine. “Life isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that my wife died of a fever that I would learn to cure five years after her death. It isn’t fair that the citizens of Darnuith trust my apothecary less since I’ve hired you and speak quite openly about it behind both of our backs.”

  “Rhys…” She tipped her head and sighed.

  “It’s not fair that I will never fire you, even if all my patients leave me and I am at risk of starving to death, because every time I see you, it’s as if the sun has finally risen and conquered the dark night of my heart.”

  “I feel that way too.”

  He stood and headed toward the door.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “To think about the fact that the woman whose caring and empathetic nature, the healer who is my friend and almost more, would rather her sister use celestial power to flatten an entire kingdom than step down from a role she didn’t choose for herself in the first place.” His voice cracked as he said it, and she thought he looked older then. Worn.

  She stood. “Rhys!” He turned back to her, nothing but a silhouette in her doorway. “Come back. What about dinner?”

  He gave her a shallow smile. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  He slipped into the night, and the door closed behind him.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Circe could tell by the bags under her sister’s eyes that she hadn’t slept well. Still, Medea smiled as she always did when she saw her and guided her to a comfortable chaise in the palace salon.

  “What brings you here so early this morning? Is everything okay?” It was like Medea to be concerned for everyone else’s comfort when it was her world falling apart.

  “It’s fine. I just… I’ve been thinking over what I said yesterday in the carriage about using the book to go to war with Paragon.”

  Medea sat and folded her hands in her lap as a servant poured them both a cup of tea. “Would you please excuse us?” she asked the servants. A few moments later, the sisters were alone in the room. “It was a valid idea and an option Tavyss and I are considering. Eleanor wants Tavyss to take the throne, which means she wants to try to use him to advance her position. All she understands is power. If he bends to her will, I know in my heart we’ll regret it. She will continue to take and take and manipulate him, us, and our child for as long as we live. You can see it in her eyes. There will be no end to her cruelty.”

  Circe chewed her lip. That was, in fact, why she’d brought up the idea in the first place. She’d thought the same thing. But Rhys was right, and she had to get what she came to say off her chest. “It’s just, last night, Rhys helped me to understand that the people of Paragon don’t get to choose their ruler. Most Paragonians are innocent. If you use the book, I think you should wield its magic in the palace against Eleanor and Brynhoff. Limit casualties.”

  “Kill the dragon within its den, instead of bringing down the entire mountain with her in it.”

  “Yes.” Circe sipped her tea.

  “I know you, sister. I know you never meant for me to level their kingdom, even if I could muster the power it would take to do it.”

  Circe stared at her hands, disappointed in herself. “Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do. When I saw how Eleanor treated you, I wanted her to die. I wanted all of them to die.”

  Medea smiled. “Do you mean to tell me that my dear sister, who always follows the rules and used to tell on herself to our parents when we were children, has developed a murderous streak?”

  Although her sister laughed, Circe saw the darkness within her heart. It was there in a separate, closed-off part of herself, and it scared her that it seemed to be growing. “I’m tired, Medea. I’m tired of the people of Darnuith threatening us. Even the ones who feign politeness are achingly distant. I’m tired of missing Mom and Dad and knowing we can never visit them again without putting them or us at risk. I’m tired of be
ing pushed around by everyone and everything, or constantly moving and changing to give everyone else space and not taking any for myself. It’s like I’m supposed to float around, a benevolent ghost who’s good enough to help where help is needed but not good enough to invite into anyone’s life.”

  A groan escaped Medea’s throat. “Why is it that I feel our discussion has taken an abrupt turn from my strategy addressing Paragon to your personal life, Circe?”

  Circe sighed. “Because it has. I think I’ve fallen in love with Rhys.”

  Medea’s brow arched. “I’d wondered. He does look at you as if you are single-handedly responsible for all the stars in the heavens.”

  With a scoff, Circe brought her cup to her lips. “Honestly, I think he’s wise to keep me at a distance. People don’t trust us here. Why should he take the risk?”

  “Circe Tanglewood, stop it. Stop it right now. He’d take the risk because you’re worth it, and if he doesn’t, he can’t be worth the price of your affection. You’re beautiful and powerful. If people here still don’t trust us, maybe that’s a sign that we’ve already accomplished whatever plan the Fates had for us when they chose me.” Medea played with the edge of her dress.

  “What does that mean? You can’t be seriously considering stepping down.”

  She nodded. “I am. I never needed to be queen. All I ever wanted was to have the freedom to exercise my magic and to love Tavyss in peace. All of this just fell into my lap, and with the baby coming… I wouldn’t be disappointed to simply be his consort.”

  Circe leaned back in her chair. Her sister shouldn’t have to bow to anyone, but if she wanted something different for her life, Circe would be there to support her. “I’m here for you, always. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Sisters are forever.”