Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)(76)
“There’s a statue of a goddess in the lake,” I said, meeting Emmy’s eyes as calmly as I could. “Delilah thinks it’s the statue of a deity named Belisama, and that I have a special connection with her. Goddess-touched, she called me. She wasn’t sure why; because of my ancestry, possibly, the connection to Morgan le Fay. Or maybe something about the way I naturally align with this particular deity, or even my given names. It wasn’t entirely clear to her.”
“A goddess in the lake,” Emmy repeated, eyes flaring wide. “Nina, that’s . . . are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said, with a tight little nod. “Not the true goddess herself, but a sentient emblem of her. The real goddess—she’s somewhere else, I think. But a significant, meaningful part of her lives down there in the statue, too. It’s what makes the lake as magical as it is. It’s what fuels all of us, I think.”
“How long have you known?” Emmy whispered, still awash in astonishment. “And how?”
“She calls me down to her, to the lake bed. It’s been going on for years; since I was little, probably. I don’t know how that’s possible, but that’s goddess magic for you, I suppose. I didn’t have any memories of it, not until one night about a month ago. I made a wish that night, without knowing what I was doing. And Belisama . . . she granted it. She gave me power. Forged me into a demigoddess in her image, according to Delilah.”
Again, I left out Morty and the witch bond. That part of the favor had nothing to do with Emmy or Thistle Grove—and whatever the outcome would be here for me, I didn’t want to expose Morty to any repercussions yet, not until I knew more about what they’d be.
The very least I could do was protect him.
Emmy nodded, her eyes flicking back and forth as she made the connections, as quickly as her cousin had done at Tomes. “So it’s you, then, causing all the magical fluctuations. The odd power fluxes, the weakening in everyone else’s magic.”
“That’s what Delilah thought—that I’d become kind of a lightning rod for the lake’s magic. A power suck, a center of increased gravity. She tested me, too, with various goddess-imbued artifacts. The one I responded to was Belisama’s, a river stone.”
I described what had happened, the water and the fiery glow, what Delilah had called a little miracle. Emmy stared at me, rapt, nodding along.
“I felt it, when that happened,” she said. “It rippled all through Thistle Grove; I’d never sensed anything like it before. Not even when I wore the Arbiter’s Mantle for the Gauntlet, and that’s the biggest, oldest magic I’ve ever known.”
“I’ve never felt anything like it, either. And it was spectacular,” I admitted. “I couldn’t have imagined it, being that strong.”
Emmy’s face hardened a little, but she nodded again, watching me with wary speculation.
“I can imagine,” she said. Still cautious, but understanding where I was coming from. “It’s intoxicating, right, having something that powerful flowing through you? Like a drug. I still dream about wearing the mantle, sometimes. Even what I have now as Victor, and as the Voice . . . it still pales in comparison. Which begs the obvious question, of course.”
“You want to know if I’m willing to give it up,” I said, holding her eyes.
“Yes,” Emmy replied simply, tilting her head. “You’re a Blackmoore, after all. And believe me, I understand exactly what kind of golden opportunity this must seem like, to someone as ambitious as you. And to Lyonesse and Igraine, the sheer potential of it. Of having a demigoddess in the family. Not to mention that you erased Delilah’s memory of her conversation with you, ostensibly so you could steal that stone. And it’s been weeks since this all began for you, which means you actively chose to withhold this information from me. I assume that was a family decision?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, because this was another tipping point. I could shoulder the full responsibility, keep my family out of it entirely. But I didn’t owe them that kind of sacrifice; they’d done nothing to earn that sort of loyalty. That also wasn’t who I wanted to be, not anymore.
“I cast the oblivion glamour of my own volition,” I said, tipping my head. “Lyonesse and Igraine didn’t even know I was going to Delilah for help. But they knew about my power surplus, the statue in the lake. And they were adamant that we keep everyone else out of it, and that I say nothing to you. The plan was for me to understand this new power, seize it fully—and then, possibly, plan a coup. Wrest the town from you, if we could.”
A ripple of pure fury wavered across Emmy’s face, her eyes flashing a searing sapphire. “A Blackmoore queen, to reign over Thistle Grove,” she bit off, her delicate jaw tight. “No matter the cost. How very Targaryen of them.”
“In their defense, we didn’t know about any of the other consequences,” I added. “As you know, we haven’t been experiencing any loss of power, unlike the other families—due to the blood connection with me, I’m assuming. So that wasn’t part of it.”
“Do you honestly believe knowing the cost would have made any difference to them?” Emmy demanded flatly. “Stripping everyone else of almost all their power, so you—and the two of them, of course—could finally rule the roost again? Doesn’t sound like the kind of thing they’d consider much of an obstacle, in my opinion, or particularly morally problematic. Possibly even preferable, to have everyone else left weak. Fewer pretenders to the throne.”