Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)(81)
Morty and I were in the middle, gloved hands joined. Gareth stood to my left, Belisama’s stone in his hands. I’d gone to him earlier today to tell him what I’d decided, give him the chance to make his own choice. He could stand with me on this, or he could decide to go to Lyonesse and Igraine, pick blood and mindless loyalty over the dignity and power of doing the right thing.
I’d known—or at least hoped—that he would choose me. Choose the right kind of change, for both of us. And he had, though I also knew that as scion, his betrayal would be considered even greater than mine, the strain on him more than anything he’d ever had to withstand before. Obedience and family fealty were ingrained powerfully in the both of us, down to the bone; but he’d always bought into it with more gusto than I did, and less critical thinking. It would be even harder for him to rebuild himself after this, discover who he was in his own right without the stamp of the Blackmoore name on him.
Emmy stood on the other end, to Morty’s right. I didn’t think her presence would be necessary, at least not magically, but I wanted her to bear witness. To know that I meant this sacrifice fully, was committed to staying this course. She caught my eye as I looked over at her, gave me a small, solemn nod of respect.
“It’s difficult,” she said, tears glimmering in her eyes—and I knew she must be remembering the mantle, and ceding it to Delilah for the final round of the Gauntlet that Samhain, before she stepped in as Natalia Avramov’s champion. “Believe me, I know. And you’re brave, so brave, to do it.”
“Thank you,” I said, biting the inside of my lip. “That means a lot coming from you, Victor and Voice.”
I closed my eyes, let the icy breeze ruffle my hair, listening to it whisper through the pine needles of the trees that ringed the lake.
“You ready, milady?” Morty whispered to me, squeezing my hand.
“As I’ll ever be,” I murmured back, leaning over to brush a kiss over his cheek before turning back to the lake; focusing on that heat inside me, the glowing ember. The goddess’s gift.
“Lady,” I started, in a whisper. “Belisama, if that’s a name you like. I came to thank you for your favor. I know, now, what you did for me. And I . . . I think I know why you did it, too.”
A thread of light raced through the lake, just the slightest glimmer, before vanishing. Nothing like the storm of fallen stars that had greeted me the last time. This was more of an acknowledgment, a subtle tip of the head; a sign that deep beneath fathoms upon fathoms of black water, she was listening.
“I needed power,” I said, my voice gaining in strength and volume. “I needed control—but not the kind I had before. The suffocating kind that wrapped around my neck, and wouldn’t let me breathe or live or be. So you gave me fire; you lent me light; you gifted me the kind of love I didn’t think existed. Or at least a taste of it. The promise of what could be, if I was brave enough.”
The light flared again, and this time the breeze through the trees sounded almost like a voice, the whispering breath of a low, sweet chuckle.
“You gave me everything I needed to find my own strength,” I said, my voice trembling now, tears prickling in my nose. “To step into the right kind of power. But I don’t think you intended for me to keep it forever, did you? Not if it meant that everyone but my family had to lose power of their own. Not if it meant Emmy losing what’s hers by right—because if she’s the Voice, that must mean you know her, too. That she’s also yours, even if she isn’t touched by you like I am.”
Another flare of light, an approving sigh from the trees, as if to say, Go on.
“This was just a push for me, a nudge in the right direction. A stepping-stone. And to really accept what you’ve given me, to complete that transformation . . . this last bit is part of it, too. I’m so grateful—so deeply thankful—for having had it. But I have to let it go now. Give it back to you.”
I turned to Gareth, offering him my palm. “The stone, brother,” I said, trying to keep my voice from quaking as I swallowed back tears.
“One last time,” he said, low, his eyes catching the pale glint of the waxing half-moon above. “I have to ask . . . are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said. And I was, even if my voice fractured, even if I felt like I might cry for days once the deed was done.
Then the stone was in my hand, my mind and body suffused in liquid fire, ecstatic power surging through every fiber of me. Illuminating me until I felt like I was no longer even flesh and blood, but something purely wrought of light. There was no ceiling waterfall this time, but the lake itself began a shimmering ripple, lapping toward me, creeping over the frozen edge like a personalized tide.
I clutched the stone tight, willing the seeded goddess ember inside me to meld with that flood of light, to rejoin it. And when I wound my arm back and flung the stone into the water, I could feel it leave me in a dizzying, forceful rush; all of it as one, including the little spark that had been the root of the favor. The coin disappeared from my pants pocket in the same instant; I could feel it vanish, huff out into nothing. If Morty hadn’t been holding my other hand so tightly, I would have sagged where I stood, fallen to my knees like I had the previous night, pressed my forehead to the frozen ground and wailed like some tragic Shakespearean figure.
Because it hurt to lose that ferocious power, to feel it tear out of me like a thorn. To say goodbye to fire, farewell to light. To know nothing would ever be so fiercely bright and warm inside of me again, not after tonight.