Page 14 of Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters 2)
“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.
