Penelope raised an eyebrow. “A scrying table?”
Brother Victor nodded. “The only one left in existence.” He looked over at me. “It is how we knew you were coming. We have been keeping track of you ever since you came back into this world.”
I swallowed, my voice rough. “How does it work? Can you show us who this general is?”
Victor raised his staff and waved it over the table. The fog in the table parted, revealing a small legion of soldiers camped at the base of a mountain.
“I don’t recognize the area,” Penelope said. “Can we get closer, Victor?”
Victor nodded and moved his staff over the table; the magic within it hummed and the scene changed. The general was in his tent in the midst of a small encampment of soldiers. But he was not alone. Andromeda was there, and so was Skye.
The general was speaking, his back toward us and his hand held out. “Give me the book, Andromeda. I will not ask again.”
She clutched it to her as I had seen her do before. She didn’t intend to give it up. “We had a deal, General,” Andromeda spat out the words. “You and Morgana were supposed to make me Queen of Elfi.” She lifted her chin. “Do you see a throne?”
The old druid raised his staff and the scene shifted until we were staring right into the general’s face.
Penelope’s hand flew to her mouth but could not stifle the gasp that escaped. Her face turned white as she leaned forward to get a better look. “Joreth!” Her voice cracked slightly. “This is impossible—he died twenty years ago in the last mage wars. I was there, I saw it with my own eyes.”
I looked at her and Rafe and back at Victor. “Who is Joreth?”
Penelope’s tone was low and serious. “Don’t you remember your history lessons at the academy, Aurora? Joreth was a traitor, the leader of the Black Mages. He and Lilith tried to take the kingdom from your grandfather.”
My stomach dropped to the floor. I did remember her telling us about the Black Mages and the army of traitors my father defeated over twenty years ago. “But isn’t he supposed to be dead?”
Penelope nodded. “Your father faced him in battle and killed him.”
“Unfortunately,” the old druid interrupted, “Joreth didn’t die. Watch and you will understand.”
We all turned back to the scrying table.
Joreth smiled at Andromeda, as sinister as a deadly snake about to strike, and a chill scuttled down my spine. His obsidian eyes glistened as he regarded the Grand Duchess of the Day Court, who, despite the circumstances, stood with her head held high, not cowering before him. I respected her for that, but I also knew it was a vain stance. Joreth would get what he wanted eventually. Dragath would not let one High Fae stand in his way. And I was right.
Out of the pocket of his robes he drew forth the Dagger. I gasped. He already had it. It wasn’t with Morgana as we had presumed.
The blade glistened with an eerie sheen, and the ruby on the hilt shone the color of blood as he turned it over in his hands. The blade, curved and twisted, was made of a metal that seemed to absorb all the light around it, a black pit of darkness that consumed everything it touched. Even so far away, seeing the dreaded Dagger caused my heart to beat fast, and I shuddered involuntarily as I remembered what it had done to me. How it had made me feel powerless and alone, as if there would never be any light left in the world. It had stripped me of my magic as if it were no more than a piece of clothing. If I hadn’t had my mage magic tethering me to this world, I would have been trapped in the Dagger with my mother and all the other fae-warriors of Elfi.
Andromeda’s eyes widened in shock, and I could see real dread in them. No fae could stand before the Dagger of Dragath and not experience fear.
Like lightning, he struck.
Before Andromeda realized what was happening, the Dagger sucked her in. In a flash, she was gone. The book in her hand thumped to the floor where she had been standing.
Skye screamed, “Mother!” But it was too late.
Joreth turned to her and held out his hand as Skye bent down and picked up the book. “I hope you have more sense than your mother.” His voice was cruel, mocking.
She stood before him, her face showing a multitude of emotions. My stomach twisted as she handed him the book.
“Now all he needs is the key,” Penelope said softly.
“And a Firedrake,” said Victor, shooting me a quick look as he waved his staff and the table went dark.
Everyone was quiet as we tried to process what we had just seen. We took a seat in the library on benches around an ancient oak table piled high with dusty leatherbound tomes and haphazardly strewn scrolls. The monks were not exactly a tidy bunch.
Finally, Penelope spoke. “I think we need more of an explanation, Victor. How is Joreth still alive?”
“Captain Jarvik brought him to us on a night just like this twenty years ago,” Victor explained. “At the time we did not know Dragath, or rather his consciousness, resided in this man’s body. We have always helped those in need, and he was close to death. He shouldn’t have survived, but Dragath’s dark powers somehow held his body together until he could be healed.”
“Go on,” Penelope urged.
“We healed him, and he stayed with us for a few months. He showed a lot of interest in the knowledge of magic, so we permitted him to stay and learn with us. We trusted him because we had no reason not to. He began spending a lot of time in the library, and when
