Black Moon Draw(48)

“Heirloom,” I murmur, figuring out finally what the medallion is. She also called it a Heart and said there was magic in it.

It seems pretty un-magical to me. The Shadow Knight thinks it’s important and I don’t quite get why. Is it simply the symbol of a bygone, golden era?

One that ended in a tragic tale of the love of a Shadow Knight for his battle-witch. The depth of her emotion makes my eyes mist over. I’ve never felt that for anyone, not my first love, not Jason. The love fashioned into this medallion isn’t possible in the real world. It’s the great romance, soul-deep true love, which only exists in books.

I’m not going to cry. The love this woman felt makes my pain over Jason seem petty. Brushing my thumb over symbols too faded to be read, I wonder for the first time what is written on the medallion. A poem from a man to the woman he loved?

Her final, horrific curse that condemned an entire world to war for a thousand years?

“Hell hath no fury,” I recite. I kind of envy her, the depth of her emotion, the love of a man that powerful, the fact she was his equal. It’s perfect.

It’s also not remotely real, and that makes me so much sadder for her and me.

The last great battle-witch of my world . . . I can’t get those words out of my head. Replacing the medallion, I chew on my lower lip, thinking hard. The woman, the warrior queen Naia, was from another world. Mine?

If my dream was . . . well, inspired or maybe even written by LF, does that mean everything in it was true? Did this happen a thousand years ago and was she talking about me coming here? I’ve been called the last great battle-witch by the Red Knight and the Shadow Knight.

“Sorry, but you’d be way disappointed, sister,” I murmur, upset that I can’t even live up to a dead woman’s expectations. If there’s magic in the medallion, I can’t feel it, and I’m not about to start killing people out of vengeance for an event that never really happened.

Yet it’s really hard to dismiss the dream and the emotions that went through me when I was living it.

With a sigh, I rub my face. If I’m supposed to make things right, I’m failing miserably. Another thought makes me blush hot.

. . . the most sacred act between a man and woman in a world where a name gave someone else great power . . .

Is that why the Shadow Knight reacted strangely when I told him I had a name instead of calling me witch? Did he think I was hitting on him or more embarrassing – proposing? I didn’t mean to act like I was coming between him and his woman.

He later asked me what my name was, but he seemed very grave about it. What about the Red Knight? He seems like the kind who would ask to blackmail me later for political reasons.

Both hid the full truth that a woman and man exchanging names was a helluva lot more meaningful here than it is in my world.

The Shadow Knight didn’t reveal his name. I don’t know why that bums me out, unless it’s because of my self-esteem issue. Not that I want to be married to a mass-murdering knight from a fantasy book . . . but . . .

Ugh. I’m a mess. He’s taken.

I wish I could confirm what I saw in the dream.

Then again, if I did, wouldn’t that make It harder for me to pretend this place isn’t real?

“You cannot go anywhere, witch!” The squire is adorable, groggily alarmed. He lifts his head from his nest of blankets and pillows next to the fire.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?” I grumble.

“The Shadow Knight says you –”

“Where is he?”

My companion climbs to his feet, his dark hair ruffled charmingly. “On the roof.”

“Roof?”

“’Tis where the Square Table is,” he says with a look that tells me I’m supposed to know this.

“Who puts a table on the roof?”

“’Tis not a real table.” He shakes his head.

There are times when the nonsense of this world makes me want to throw things. “Take me to the roof and this imaginary table.”

The squire appears ready to lecture me the way his master might, but I stomp my foot and point towards the door. With a mumble I can’t hear, he pulls on his boots and picks up his massive sword and straps it to his back.

I’m fully dressed after passing out. I recall talking to the Red Prince without knowing for sure what we talked about.

He passes me more of the minty water. I drink greedily, my stomach empty, and hand it back.

We leave the chamber and walk through two hallways before reaching stairs that appear to be suspended in midair, leading to the roof.

“Wow.” I circle the odd scene. “These are magic stairs?”

“Is that not what they look like?” He walks up them without really caring about how cool it is to see floating stone blocks.

I trail the grumpy teen. The chill before dawn reaches me halfway up, tickling my neck, and I shiver. I’m not certain what to expect when I reach the top, but it’s not for the Square Table to be a wrestling ring where a dozen men are gathered around watching two others in an MMA style fight.

Maybe I should expect such a sight in an embattled world. It’s not my scene, though, and my attention goes from the fighters to those watching them. The boar head gives the Shadow Knight away, his eyes glowing an unnatural blue like two lanterns in the night. Next to him is Wolfie with his silver eyes, and the Red Knight stands to the Shadow Knight’s other side.