Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice #2)(23)

Unease washed over her, but she continued on, determined to acquire the spell that would once again send her half sister away. Without a throne, how else could she obtain the power she so desperately craved? Jaxon slowed so that she might match his stride.

“Ye would be wise to use your manners with the queen and answer her questions honestly,” he said in a low voice. “For though a tongue may speak, the heart is what she hears.”

Rosalind frowned at the idiocy of such a notion. “And what is the name of this queen who listens to hearts rather than words and logic?”

“Her name is Giselle. Though, as you are our visitor, I advise ye to address her only as Your Majesty.”

Rosalind offered a nod while working to keep her face clear of disgust. His queen was not a real queen, likely not even of royal descent or proper bloodlines. To address her as Jaxon suggested was appalling, but to behave in any way contrary might insult the queen and thus lessen Rosalind’s chances of getting what she wanted.

And she wanted Princess Adelaide gone very, very much.

They drew upon the manor’s wide front steps and made their way toward its large wooden door. The guards stationed there offered small bows to Jaxon—or should she say, Prince Jaxon—and stepped aside to allow him access. Their eyes, however, remained fixated on her as she and her escort passed into the manor’s main hall.

Whatever Rosalind had imaged a witch’s lair might look like, this was certainly not it. The manor looked like any other from the outside, but the space within was filled from floor to the second-floor ceiling with lush green vegetation. A bubbling brook snaked its way along what might have been the room’s perimeter, and flowers in every color imaginable bloomed amid the hanging vines. Her step faltered at the beauty of it all.

“The view is a bit different from that within your castle’s walls, eh?”

She looked to Jaxon. “Is this…real?”

“Aye. Magic makes this possible, though the scene changes with the mood of our queen. Ye are in luck—her mood seems light today.”

“If witchcraft created this, then why does your hut remain so…plain?”

“Only the queen possesses the power to conjure such an oasis.”

“And what powers do you possess, then?”

“Do ye think that everyone who lives in this village is a witch?” he asked with a crooked grin.

“Aye, ’tis what I believed.”

“Not all our people are born with the magic, though most are able to learn enchantments, which summon it through spells.” Jaxon stopped beside her, his gaze intense as it locked with hers. “Contrary to what your father believes, Weston is not the only village where magic exists. It takes more than a single man declaring a people be exiled to smother magic in his kingdom.”

“You suggest there are still witches residing in Forath?”

“Aye. Many who know not what they are. ’Tis how Silas and I heard of your inquiries. We travel the forests searching for the lost and, once found, offer them refuge and training here, in our village.”

Witches in Forath? Oh, how furious her father would be to know such a thing.

“And how are you able to identify such a person if they know not themselves what they are?”

“I am a seeker. ’Tis one of my gifts.”

Rosalind suddenly realized how close they stood, him leaning toward her and her to him. She took a step back and drew a long breath to clear her head. Again, it was as though she’d become entranced by his voice. Perhaps that was one of his gifts as well—a gift she’d do well to learn to resist. A regal voice rang out then, interrupting her thoughts.

“My son.”

Rosalind looked toward the sound and spied a beautiful woman dressed in a flowing lilac gown. Her long hair—red, like glowing embers—hung nearly to her waist and was topped with a crown made of flowers that matched the blooms all around them. Jaxon stepped forward and knelt before his approaching mother, who bent to kiss each of his cheeks.

“Fate has returned you to me safely.”

“Aye, Mother.”

Jaxon rose to his full height, then stepped back to stand beside Rosalind. Eyes of the darkest brown settled upon Rosalind, and the queen’s right brow arched.

“Another lost sheep has been found?”

“I am neither a sheep nor lost, Your Majesty,” said Rosalind.

Jaxon shot her a brief look of disapproval. “My queen, I present to you Princess Rosalind Bennett, of the—”

“I know from where she hales,” spat his mother, her bright eyes now a steely black. “For what reason does the daughter of our most hated enemy stand before me now? Is she your prisoner?”

“No, Mother. She seeks our help and insists she shall make us a handsome offer in return.”

Giselle’s chin lifted. “And what help do you seek, child?”

“I seek a powerful magic, Your Majesty. One that can open a passage between this world and the next.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Such magic does not exist.”

“But it does. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

“When?”

“Nearly two fortnights ago, when I witnessed my half sister return from a land beyond that which we know.”

“Impossible.” Giselle’s voice was barely a whisper, the color in her cheeks draining away.