CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

INISFAIL COURT

SHISTI

Clad in moonlight, Shisti knelt before the fire in her room and prepared to weave Azar’s blood into the wards around Raven Castle and Inisfail. She’d promised the woman, after all, and had even come to like her.

Enough to set her free rather than murder her, anyway.

The idea of disappointing Azar made some tiny bit of conscience inside Shisti uncomfortable. She hadn’t thought any of her conscience survived her time in her father’s court, nor had she felt guilt or regret for as long as she could remember.

Azar called them friends. In Shisti’s experience, friends were just those who hadn’t betrayed her yet, but Fechin’s new plaything didn’t have guile in her. She’d grown up feeling loved and protected. It never occurred to her that those around her might be plotting against her behind her back. Or lying to her face while they smiled and pretended to like her.

There were more than a few in court who wanted something from, or held grudges against, Fechin, and targeting Azar would give them the upper hand or feed their revenge. The girl was so naive she would walk into a trap without a single thought about danger or protecting herself, placing Shisti in the unexpected, and ironic, position of protecting Fechin’s woman. The man had become so addle-brained he missed clues he shouldn’t, and wouldn’t have before Azar’s arrival. Her rosy way of looking at people and situations had infected him.

No one made that assumption about Shisti. Everyone knew, or thought they knew, that she was a cold-blooded murderer and willing to strike at the slightest provocation. A single look from her was enough to deter most threats. A whispered word sent via gossip informing eager ears that Azar’s demise was Shisti’s pleasure to enjoy stopped the rest.

The larger part of Shisti scoffed at the idea of living in such a state of innocence, but a small part of her couldn’t help her curiosity, and a sliver of hope, as she placed a hand over her abdomen. Though it was far too late for her, that was the life she desperately wanted for her daughter. And she would be the cold-blooded murderer everyone thought she was and become worse to make sure that happened.

So, Shisti studied Azar, trying to imagine her unborn daughter’s face. Pretended Azar’s genuine smiles, peals of laughter, and easy way with people belonged to her child. Thinking of her baby sparked magic between them, strengthening their bond. In order for her daughter to have a chance at freedom and a happy life, Shisti had to set Azar free.

Shisti brought her attention back to the work at hand. The wards. The magic wasn’t hers, and changing the spell from keeping Azar in to letting Azar out wasn’t easy. They needed a delicate touch — requiring a level of intense concentration that left Shisti exhausted, with sore eyes and an achy head.

She glanced at the Nymphs and Nixies kneeling around her. Nudity didn’t bother beings so close to nature, in fact, they preferred a lack of clothing. Firelight glimmered off the faint blue and green scales of the three Nixies. Their hair was slicked back and dark, like it was always wet even when they hadn’t been near water. The five slender brown-skinned Nymphs held hands and left their hair loose to blow in the breezes Shisti’s magic generated.

When she’d robbed Vilkos and his band of degenerates of the women they’d planned to rape, she hadn’t given any thought as to what would become of them. They were supposed to disappear from her notice, like birds freed from a cage.

However, most of them attached themselves to her. More friends, maybe. This sort of friendship she understood. They mistakenly thought her some sort of hero, or that they owed her a debt. She hadn’t acted to help the women so much as to rob the men, but Fae abhorred the idea of owing a debt to anyone. She’d not asked for anything — it was reward enough to irk Vilkos and the Wild Hunt.

Although most Fae didn’t like witches, these women were fascinated by her magic, and in exchange for lessons, volunteered their energy for Shisti to draw on. The Nixies and Nymphs had plenty of wild earth and water magic compatible with hers.

Shisti dipped her fingers into the bowl of Azar’s blood and drew sigils in the air as she chanted. Her magic turned Azar’s blood into a mist that drifted to the window, seeking weak spots. Smaller than droplets, the mist seeped into fine cracks and imperfections.

With Azar’s blood in the ward, Shisti guided the energy to the runes comprising the spell. Adding a tiny smudge to an angle, a slight extension to a straight line, or a bit of thickness to the delicate sweep of a curve, she gradually changed the purpose of the magic.

The wards accepted Azar’s blood easily, sending a slight quiver through the protections around the castle. The magic thinned. Shisti rose, crossed to the window, and gave a tentative push. The barrier allowed her fingers to sink in, passing nearly all the way through until it bowed slightly. She pulled away before the magic snapped back at her.

Shisti released her power. “That’s all for today, ladies. I’m going to get some rest.”

The Nymphs and Nixies adjourned to their quarters — rooms next door to Shisti’s, easily appropriated since no one wanted to live anywhere near her.

Alone, she cradled the slight swelling of her abdomen. “Did you see how to do that, little one? Soon Azar will be able to leave the castle. The same magic sustains the wards, and will be easy to break when we’ve finished here.”

A thrill of magic was reply enough. As she often did, Shisti sent love and magic to her daughter and received love and magic in return. Unfortunately, her daughter also loved the boy. Shisti tried hard to ignore him. He reminded her of Vilkos, and being forced to submit to the will of another. Forced to bear his child.

Shisti’s gaze caught on her red stained fingertip, and she licked the streaks of Azar’s blood away. It sent a hot buzz of power through her and restored her energy no matter how many times she allowed herself the indulgence. Fortunately, she’d amassed a stockpile of blood she could savor after Azar was free.

Her daughter quivered in excitement and satisfaction as the magic warmed her. Then the tiny girl — sweet, pure, innocent, and with no understanding of the ways of males — shared the love and magic with the boy. Shisti tried to prevent it, afraid he would be an abyss who returned nothing, or worse, demanded more magic and drained her daughter of life before she drew breath..

But the boy returned the same emotions and power to her daughter, then sent a tentative strand of hope and love drifting toward Shisti.

Unexpected shame filled her. The child was innocent of wrongdoing. He hadn’t asked for Vilkos to be his father, just as Shisti had not asked for Ymir to father her. She chose not to be like him. Maybe the boy wouldn’t be like Vilkos She’d grown up without the benefit of being loved and protected. Could she do that to her child? Either of them?

No.

While Vilkos was the boy’s father, she was his mother. She remembered longing to be loved. There was still enough hurt, confusion, and resentment in her heart that she couldn’t wish that treatment on an innocent.

Being around Azar had made Fechin a fool, but Shisti had to acknowledge she was not unaffected. She was becoming sentimental.

Shisti took hold of fragile hope from the boy and embraced it, sending hesitant love in return. As if he’d been waiting for that acceptance, the boy flooded her with joy. Sheer shock sent Shisti to her knees at the enormity of the emotion. She sent more love, finding rather than running out of a limited supply, she had opened some sort of endless reservoir. Her daughter joined in their sharing, and Shisti rejoiced in being loved unconditionally for who she was.

Curious, Shisti sent magic to the boy. No. She could no longer think of him as a parasite she wished to be rid of. He was her son. His response was slower, and a bit clumsier than her daughter’s, but he shared magic with her. The talent in him would need to be nurtured, but he could be a powerful witch someday.

The cycle of sharing magic among the three of them chased away Shisti’s weariness and brought a smile to her lips. She wouldn’t leave any child to Vilkos, his insane father, or the Wild Hunt.

Coming to an impulsive decision, Shisti picked up her knife and sliced both palms. Pressing her bloody hands to her belly, she whispered a chant to give her babies strength and help them grow faster. She monitored them for any sign of distress, but they each absorbed her spell eagerly.

She could buy some time this way. Vilkos would think she had five more months of pregnancy, but she could reduce it a few days at a time over the coming weeks.

Shisti selected a vial of Azar’s blood and moved to the balcony. Outside the castle wards she emptied the contents into her bowl and cut her palms again, mixing their blood with one finger. The wards definitely wouldn’t accept Shisti’s blood alone, but maybe mixed with Azar’s, she could insinuate hers into the protections of Inisfail that kept everyone locked inside.

The cracks and fractures in the Inisfail fog accepted the blended blood, allowing Shisti to expand on the faults.

A few more casts should see the fogs weakened enough to free Azar. Then Shisti would free herself, and give birth to her children far from the Raven Court.