“How do you like the gown?” the witch asked.
I shifted uncomfortably, feeling awkward as I fidgeted with the ribbons lacing up the bodice. If I’d had any say in the matter, I’d have chosen something less formal, something less nineteenth-century. But as I was her “guest,” I didn’t have a choice.
“Where is Kull?” I asked.
“Sit,” she said, “and then we shall discuss the matter.”
Flexing my fists, I felt my magic gaining strength as it slowly returned. I debated on using my powers to battle the dragon, but in my weakened state I’d most likely end up dead, and then Kull would end up dead or transformed into a wraith, so I had no choice but to play along.
I crossed the room, pulled out a chair, and sat.
“Eat,” she said, motioning to the sweet breads and assortment of fruits piled atop the table.
Silvestra placed a bunch of grapes and a slice of sweet bread on her plate. She ate slowly, with a meticulous grace that seemed practiced, and then took a small sip from her goblet.
I debated on refusing the food but relented as my stomach growled, and I snatched a handful of berries from a silver platter. As I put a few of the berries in my mouth, I chewed slowly, feeling the witch’s eyes on me as she watched me eat.
“Why don’t you tell me where you’ve put Kull?” I asked.
“Tonight,” she said. “You will see him.”
See him? This was good news. He was still alive, at least. “Is he okay? Why can’t I see him now?”
Her pale turquoise eyes seemed to bore a hole through me. “He is mine, child. Whatever I do with him is my concern. You would be wise to remember this.” She rested her chin in her hands, her long, claw-like nails gleaming in the sunlight. “You need to understand that I rarely get visitors in my castle. Those who dare come here either die or become one of my servants as they are trying to steal from me. Your friends with the staff are being hunted even as we speak, and it will not be long before I have them.
“As it is, I have realized that I miss having conversations with others who have magical gifts. There was a time when I was like you—unsure of my powers, afraid of what I might become. You are not the only one spoken of in prophecy.”
I paused in taking a bite of bread.
“There was a prophecy spoken long ago by Lucretian—Faythander’s first true druid—that I would betray my own kind, that I would become a scourge and plague. ‘From the mountaintops she shall bring about the death of the innocent. Beauty taken by force shall be her prison. Her curse will be her name. She will be alone and loathed by all.’ The prophecy frightened me so badly that I ran from it, only to find that by doing so, I fulfilled it.”
Her words struck a chord with me. She had described exactly how I felt.
“I didn’t know,” I said quietly.
She shrugged. “It is of little consequence now. As soon as I knew I had the gift for black magic, I fought it. I refused to use it. But it became impossible to suppress it, and I had no other choice but to embrace the magic inside me.” She opened her hand, palm up, and a black flame ignited. Even though I was sitting across from her, the heat from the flame warmed me. I could feel the magic in her flame—dark magic, though not like I’d felt in Geth, the Regaymor, or the bloodthorn. There was no taint like I’d felt in theirs. It was power, but not evil.
The flame reflected in her eyes, sparks dancing in her irises, and then she extinguished it.
“You taught yourself to use black magic?” I asked. “How?”
“Years of practice. It was not easy.”
I studied her face. Most who used black magic in Faythander went insane. Perhaps she already had. If she’d been transforming people into wraiths, she certainly wasn’t considered normal. But was she insane? Was there a way to control black magic without losing one’s sanity?
“Tonight,” Silvestra said, “I have planned a ball in the grand chamber. You will attend.”
“A ball?” I asked. Had no one informed her that you needed guests in order to classify something as a ball? “Who are you inviting?”
She smirked. “You will see. Perhaps you’ll understand how I pass my time here.”
I eyed her. All this conversation made me feel as if she were avoiding the reason I’d come to speak to her. “What have you done with Kull? Have you transformed him?”
“You shall see him at the ball.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Is he transformed?”
“You shall see him soon,” she said, a tone of warning in her voice. “For now, you will learn of my ways here. There is much you have yet to learn. Fan’twar has been protecting you from the truth for too long.”
She whispered a word of magic, making a cloud of black mist form on the table. The food disappeared, yet as the mist dissipated, a box appeared.
“Pick it up,” she said.
Wary of a trap or spell, I hesitated before reaching for it. But if her intention was to hurt me, then I was fairly certain she would have done it already.
I picked up the box, and it weighed heavy in my hands as if made of solid stone. It had a glassy, onyx texture. The box felt perfectly smooth and formed a geometrically perfect cube.
“Open it,” she said.
I inspected the cube. There were no hinges or a lid of any kind. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just a block of stone.”
“Is it?”
Inspecting it more closely, I tried to determine what exactly the thing was. I ran my hands over the smooth black stone. It chilled my fingers as my reflection stared back from the mirrorlike surfaces. A gentle hum of magic formed inside as I stared at it.
“There’s magic in it,” I said.
Silvestra nodded. “What else?”
I rested my
