Madness of Her Mages West

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Table of Contents
Madness of Her Mages | Court of Fae and Firelight Book Four

My Giant Penis Map!

Dedications

Part One | Demons, Deception, and the Tides of Destruction | Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Part Two | Spells, Secrets, and Bonds of Blood | Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Part Three | Witches, Weapons, and the Cost of War | Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

The Fae Queen’s Warriors Sample

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Books by Tara West

About Tara West

Court of Fae and Firelight Glossary

Madness of Her Mages
 Court of Fae and Firelight Book Four
Copyright © 2024 by Tara West
Published by Shifting Sands Publishing
First edition, published February 2024
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of
the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be
construed as real.
Artwork by Trifbookdesign.com
Edits by Jade Taggart
The truth is an illusion. Our allies are our enemies. We must trust only in our hearts.
Left with no choice but to serve in my aunt’s army, my mates and I are forced to navigate the perils of her demon-infested court
while keeping my young nieces safe.
Before we become puppets in a mad mage’s scheme of vengeance, I must convince Queen Malvolia that she’s about to wage
war based on an illusion. That almost twenty-five years ago an evil mage had tricked the sorceress queen into setting her
country ablaze and hunting my mother, her dear twin sister. That deception and paranoia had led to my father’s unjust execution.
And her real enemy is far more vengeful and deadly than her imagined one.
War is looming, and if we can’t find a way to stop it, we will be forced to battle King Fachnan’s thousand-dragon army and his
powerful white witch ally, my own beloved twin. Even worse, we could all become demon fodder.
 My Giant Penis Map!
I commissioned an artist to turn my Court of Fae and Firelight world into a map. Only I didn't realize until the final product
came back that my fantasy world is in fact, one big giant penis. It's my fault. I gave the artist a sketch. She did exactly like I
asked. So now all my readers can see my giant subconscious fantasy penis presented in map form. Much thanks to Jade over at
A Plus Authors for my giant penis map!
 Dedications
To Sophia, for supporting me.
Jade, I’m so glad I found you. Thank you for making my book better!
Amanda, Cary, Cheryl, Jessica, Joy, Sheri, thank you for your feedback and finding my oopsies!
Susan, thank you for always being there with your amazing observations!
 Part One
Demons, Deception, and the Tides of Destruction
 Chapter One
Malvolia Avias
60 years earlier
ressing my hands against the cold, damp stones, I navigated through the dark tunnel, trying not to gag on the putrid gas that
P filled my lungs as I sloshed through the rotten sewage that went up to my knees. I stilled, dread coursing up my spine when
the pitter-patter of scurrying rats echoed somewhere above my head. Oh, how I wished I could smoke every scurrilous
creature out of this hovel, but I’d learned the first night in the sewers what gas did to flame after setting my robes on fire and
singing off my eyebrows. I sighed in relief after reaching the alcove where I’d hidden away my twin. I heaved myself onto the
stone platform, crawling through the low tunnel toward her, wincing while chafing my shins on the jagged stones.
Flickering candlelight spilled from the grates above. We were somewhere beneath the alchemy chamber. I could tell by the
pungent smells of herbs wafting into our cramped space that thankfully dulled some of the smells of the sewer. We had yet to
hear or see the green witch who’d lived in the alchemy chamber, and I feared she’d been killed along with the rest of my
grandmother’s court. I gritted my teeth to contain my rage when I thought of the wicked, power-hungry mage, Djall, who’d
murdered my family. Dark magic swirled in my veins. Very soon I would make sure he paid for his crimes.
My sister was at the end of the alcove, shivering against the wall while wrapped up in musty blankets. Her once-rosy
cheeks were an alarming shade of gray, concaved from a fortnight of starvation after refusing to eat the moldy bread and scraps
I’d collected. I had to get her out of here soon.
I pulled a bladder of water and a loaf of moldy bread from my pocket, holding them out to her. “Sister, I’ve brought us
some food.”
She waved me away with a groan. “I’m not hungry.”
She was wasting away. If she didn’t eat soon, I feared she’d succumb to sickness. I’d already lost so much. I couldn’t lose
my beloved twin, too. “But you must eat.”
She leaned her head back against the wall, a solitary tear cutting through the grime on her cheek. “I miss Mama.”
I fought back the darkness that trickled into my veins at the mention of our dear mother. I heaved a shaky sigh. “Me too.”
She blinked at me through glossy eyes. “And aunties and Grandmama.”
“I know, darling,” I soothed, pushing a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. I let out a hiss when I felt her forehead. I
flattened my palm against her heated skin. “You’re burning up.”
“I know.” Her eyes fluttered shut as she heaved a ragged breath. “The elements will take me to our family soon. I can feel
it.”
Panic iced my veins and threatened to cut off my words. No, not Flora. I couldn’t lose her! “Flora, please.” My throat
constricted as I forced out the words. “I can’t live without you.”
Her shoulders fell as she murmured something incoherent, her head lolling to one side. I pressed a kiss to her warm cheek,
telling her how much I loved her, before crawling back out of the alcove. Fear and rage fueled my veins, propelling me back
through the sewer. I had to find Selig now. I knew it was a risk leaving the sewers, but I didn’t look like Princess Malvolia at
the moment. My sister had transformed both of our faces so that we looked like hybrid servants. Djall didn’t know about
Flora’s skin-shifting magic, the only reason we were both still alive.
Chest heaving, I pushed myself up the long, slippery slide toward the top of the sewers, forcing open the grate with an
angry growl. I fell into the dirt, back arching like a cat while I heaved vomit and bile. By the time I finished, my head spun with
sickness. Closing my eyes, I released a long breath then inhaled the cool, briny ocean air. I couldn’t afford to be sick. Not now
when my sister needed me. After the last wave of dizziness subsided, I slowly opened my eyes. Night had fallen, and the castle
keep was eerily quiet with the exception of the sound of the powerful northern waves hitting the seawall. I was near the
compost dump behind the stables. An angry horse’s neigh rang out. Somewhere in the distance I heard the beating of wings, and
music and screeching laughter filtered down from above.
Snarling, I turned my gaze to the looming tower, looking in the direction of my grandmother’s bedchamber. Silhouettes of
naked women danced in the candlelight.
Bastard.
Djall would pay.
Dark energy leached from my fingertips. I looked down at my magic as if it was a foreign thing. I was still learning how to
wield my powers. I wasn’t trained to go up against a mage as powerful as Djall, but I had no choice. I would simply have to
outsmart him.
“Your Highness, what are you doing here?”
Gasping, I arched back. I’d been so consumed by worry, I hadn’t noticed Selig approach. Selig was only about thirty-five
years old, twenty years older than me, and still young for a mage. He’d been assigned as my mage five years ago when my
grandmother had first noticed my strengthening powers. He’d not been a particularly gifted mage, but he’d been kind and loyal
—more than I could say for his uncle.
As unkind as Djall had been to others, his cruelty paled in comparison to the way he’d berated and beaten his nephews,
which was one reason why I suspected Selig was willing to help me. I’d heard the whisperings at court that Djall was in truth
Selig and Thorin’s father, that they’d been born out of an affair with a human whore, which was why their magic wasn’t as
powerful and why Selig’s wings were two useless appendages hanging down his back and Thorin’s wings weren’t much
stronger.
Perhaps it was Selig’s tumultuous childhood that enabled him to take pity on my sister and me now. Selig had hidden us in
the sewers when Djall had first turned on my family. If not for him, we would’ve starved to death or worse. Together, Selig and
I had been plotting his uncle’s demise, a plan that I realized would take far too long. We had to act now.
“I had to come.” I stumbled to my feet. “Flora is getting worse.”
He stepped back, his nose wrinkling. “You must be patient. My uncle will let his guard down soon. I just need a few more
weeks.”
I turned up my chin, reminding myself I was a future queen while refusing to feel ashamed for my smell and appearance. “I
don’t have a few more weeks. Flora will die if I don’t get her out of there.”
He cast furtive glances over his shoulders, then spoke on a hiss. “I know you don’t want me to involve Thorin, but he
would help if he knew Flora was ill.”
I flinched at the mention of his younger brother. I’d never liked Thorin. He reminded me too much of Djall, and not just
because of his oily smile and saccharine words, but I didn’t like the way he obsessed over Flora. He gave me a queasy feeling
whenever he was near, and I always felt the need to shield my sister from his penetrating stare.
“What is he willing to do?” I finally asked, poison dripping into my veins at the mention of his name.
“He will change my uncle’s memories,” he said while chewing on his bottom lip, “just for a few hours.”
My heart skipped a beat as magic pooled in my fingertips. Was involving Thorin worth the risk? “I only need a few hours.”
He arched a bushy, dark brow. “Then should I ask him?”
There was a dull edge in his voice that gave me pause. “What will he ask in return?”
Selig averted his gaze, but not before I saw the wariness in his eyes. “For you to allow him back at court.”
“So he can try to manipulate us again,” I spat.
“He says he’s learned his lesson.” Selig turned his gaze back toward me, though he couldn’t hold it for more than a few
heartbeats.
“My grandmother’s court is terrified of him.” Thorin’s mind-changing magic was the reason the women at court wore black
veils and the men shielded their eyes with their wings. Good thing Thorin’s spells only lasted a few hours. I couldn’t imagine
the chaos he’d create if he could alter our minds for days or longer.
“Your grandmother is dead, as is most of her court,” Selig admonished, no hint of sympathy in his voice. “If you wish to
save your sister now, he’s our only chance.”
I heaved a frustrated breath. He was right, damn him. “Very well, but if he tries to alter any of our memories, he’s back
out.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He clasped his hands in a prayer pose. “I promise my brother will be on his best behavior.”
I snorted at that. I doubted Thorin’s ‘best’ behavior would last long, though I didn’t have a choice but to rely on him.
“Go. Tell him to make haste,” I said, shooing Selig away like he was a stray mongrel. “We don’t have a moment to spare.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He bowed and quickly disappeared into the keep’s shadows.
I blew out a shaky breath, fearing I’d damned what was left of my grandmother’s court by allowing that sneaky mage to
return. Oh, the chaos he could create.
I looked down at the hole in the ground that had become the bane of my existence. My veins solidified with dread at the
thought of returning to the sewer. But I couldn’t forsake Flora now. I sucked in one more breath of crisp, fresh air before
climbing back into the abyss.
Following the sounds of my sister’s phlegmy cough, I moved through the sludge with purpose in my stride, ignoring that
foreboding feeling that I was making a terrible mistake by involving Thorin. I crawled through the tunnel toward Flora, no
longer caring about the pain in my knees.
Once I reached her, I clasped her face in my hands, alarmed at the heat radiating off her skin. She needed a healer tonight.
“Sister,” I pleaded, desperately searching her foggy eyes. “I need you to change me back.”
“No.” Tears welled in her eyes. “The bad mage will kill you.”
“I won’t let him. I promise.” I took her hands in mine, my voice breaking on a plea. “Change me back, dearest, so I can
avenge our family, and you will never be forced to live in squalor again.”
A LONE SERVANT GASPED as I strode through the hall, my head held high. She backed away, clutching her blood-soaked
sponge while looking at me as if I was a phantom resurrected from the grave. I swallowed my fear, staring straight ahead when
I noticed the dried blood that painted the walls. The blood was everywhere, as if the castle itself had bathed in it. The blood of
my family. The blood of my friends. Burning magic coursed through my veins.
I will kill him for what he’s done.
I followed the sound of music, passing the bedraggled musicians outside my grandmother’s bedchamber, their heads bent
too far forward while they plucked at their instruments with blistered fingers. They didn’t bother to look at me. In fact, other
than that one servant, everyone else had kept their heads down. It was how I was able to easily move about the castle without
being noticed. The dark mage had made them terrified to make eye contact with anyone.
I pushed open the door to my grandmother’s bedchamber, immediately struck by the overwhelming stench of piss and
vomit, not much better than the smells of the sewer. My heart sank at the condition of my grandmother’s things as I passed from
her sitting room into her bedchamber. Chairs were overturned and shattered, cushions ripped open, and drapes were shredded.
The carpets were littered with feathers, food crumbs, and broken glass.
The bed was in shambles, the frame broken, the mattress in pieces. It took all my effort not to lash out at Djall when I found
him sprawled across the furs by the hearth with two sleeping, nude women. I didn’t recognize them, though their cloying
perfume permeated the air, smacking my senses like an iron to the head. No doubt they’d come from one of Thebe’s brothels.
Djall wasn’t focused on me as he tried to no avail to wake one of the sleeping women while slapping her chin with his
shriveled, flaccid member.
Magic crackled in my palms, and I eyed him curiously as I cautiously approached. Though he had wings like all full-
blooded Ravini males, his skin had always been a sickly wan shade, reminding me of a corpse, a result of spending too much
time indoors. His pale eyes always had dark circles framing them, no doubt an effect of his love for liquor and smoke. Though
he was about the same age as my mother, he looked far older, his eyes already wrinkling, his face pruning, his scraggly beard
an ashen gray. If it hadn’t been for the herbals my grandmother’s green witch made him, he would’ve probably succumbed to
the poison he was always imbibing. Too bad she hadn’t let him die. Too bad none of my grandmother’s other mages had the
foresight to see his betrayal coming.
Sparks crackled in my palms as I watched him shake his lover’s shoulder. Though I was tempted to strike while he was
preoccupied, I didn’t want to risk him turning his magic on me, for I knew I wasn’t strong enough to take him face-to-face. I’d
have to get him when his back was turned. But how? I fought the urge to flee when he turned from his whore and stared straight
at me. Would he recognize me? No, he had that glazed look in his eyes, the same look I recognized whenever Thorin had spun
the mind of one of his victims.
After extricating himself from a tangle of limbs, Djall sat up, eyeing me with raised brows, his black, feathered wings
draped behind him like twin sails. “Do I know you?”
He more than knew me. Djall was my grandmother’s mage. I’d seen him every day at court since I could walk. I feared that
he asked if he knew me because Thorin’s mind spell was wearing off. I had to kill Djall before his memories returned.
I slowly inched closer, flames of rage pulsing through my veins as I passed a blood stain on the carpet. “You do.”
And then I was standing before him, chest heaving, my magic straining to break free. How badly I wanted to strike, but not
while he was facing me.
Wrinkling his nose, he arched away. “You smell like a sewer.”
I had to work hard to unclench my teeth. “I know.”
He leaned back on his palms, eyeing me like I was a prized sow at the market as his flaccid member began to rise and
expand. “You’ll have to bathe first if you’ve come to pleasure me.”
Holy elements! Bile projected into my throat. “Pleasure you?”
He slowly stood, ruffling his wings while crossing over to the buffet server and pouring himself a goblet of wine. “How
old are you?”
I licked my parched lips while watching him take several gulps. “Fifteen.”
He leaned against the server, his member now pointing at my chest like a spear. His wrinkled, shriveled nutsack looked
like two petrified acorns. “You’re too thin. Strip down first, and I’ll see if you’re worth the effort.”
“W-what?” I stammered.
His top lip pulled back in a feral snarl, deadly white magic flaring in his eyes. “You heard me, wench.”
I clenched my teeth to control my fear. All the men in his family line had some type of mind magic. Whereas Selig could
read minds and his brother Thorin could alter memories, their uncle had an entirely different kind of lethal magic. One cross
look, and he could melt his victims’ minds, rendering them dumb and confused, too feeble to walk or feed themselves. If Djall
knew the real reason I was here, he’d melt my mind and then slit my throat, eliminating the threat to his stolen throne—just like
he’d done to the rest of my family. I couldn’t attack him unless his back was turned, which meant I’d have to play along with his
sick seduction until he trusted me.
Removing my sewage-soaked gown was the hardest thing I’d ever done, and not because I had to work hard to peel away
the crusted fabric, but because I was sickened by his hungry, greedy gaze devouring my body. It took all my effort not to vomit
on my grandmother’s blood-stained carpet when I finally slipped out of my tattered gown.
“Hmm.” He took another slow sip of wine. “Not great. Not bad, either.” I fought the urge to cover my body when he
scowled at my breasts, his eyes boring holes through my thin chemise. “I suppose it’s too much for me to hope you’re a virgin.”
I fought back the magic that burned my fingers. “I am a virgin.”
He set the goblet down and pushed off from the table. “I can tell if you’re lying.”
His rebuke stoked the flames of rage that were already burning bright in my chest. I. Will. Kill. Him. “I’m not lying.”
“Then maybe you’re worth it.” He waved me off with a flick of the wrist. “Take a bath first.” He motioned toward the
white porcelain tub with brass clawed feet behind him, the same tub my sister and I had bathed in many evenings while our
grandmother refreshed our bubbles. “I can’t stand the smell of you.”
I refused to look at the tub, glaring at him instead. “Where am I supposed to bathe?”
“Are you a simpleton?” he snarled, thumbing behind him. “Do you not see the bath behind me?”
I blinked, playing dumb. “What bath?”
He cursed, turning his back to me. “That bath!”
I seized my chance and struck him hard, black magic exploding out of my fingertips and wrapping around his chest, his
throat, dragging him face-first into the water. His arms and legs flailed, his wings flapped, but I refused to let go, throwing
every ounce of magical energy into holding his bony frame under the water.
Let me go now, little whore, and I’ll make your death painless.
I gasped, nearly breaking hold of my magic when his voice echoed in my skull. “Never!” I screamed like an injured dragon
while tightening my hold on the magical bonds that strangled his neck. “You killed my family!”
He stopped flailing. Princess Malvolia?
“Good,” I seethed, tightening the coils around him. “You remember. Before you die, I want you to know what happens when
you cross an Avias.”
I had to do it to prevent the darkness that is coming.
“You are the darkness!” I roared.
No, he whimpered, his denial searing through my mind like flaming arrows.
“You destroyed my family,” I cried out, “but you will not break me!” My twin and I had survived a fortnight in a sewer
while blood rained down on our heads and rats threatened to gnaw off our toes. The screams of our family echoed through my
mind, shattering my heart, reverberating my soul, and still I rose from the devastation and destruction. I let him break me once.
Nobody would break me again.
He continued to flail and kick. You think your court is shattered now? This is nothing compared to what’s coming.
With a roar, I launched tendrils of burning magic into the water, boiling him alive.
His agonized screams echoed in my head, but I held tight to my magic, refusing to let go even when steam and smoke rose
from the water, and after he went eerily still and the flesh separated from his bones.

HE’S DEAD! HE’S DEAD! The dark mage is dead!

How?
Princess Malvolia killed him!
Princess Malvolia? She’s not dead?
No, and she’s Queen Malvolia now.
Heaving a shuddering breath, I summoned the last of my strength and pushed myself up from the floor. I hadn’t remembered
falling. Servants helped me into a chair, giving me bread and wine. I ate without tasting, dry crumbs sticking to the roof of my
mouth no matter how much wine I drank. It was then I realized the bread was stale, and I wondered if the cooks had all been
killed in Djall’s purge. No matter. I continued to shove the bread into my mouth, knowing I needed nourishment after using so
much magic.
So much magic.
I looked at my burned and blistered fingertips, hardly registering the pain.
I killed him. I killed Djall.
I leaned back in the chair, recognizing the red satin embroidery on the cushions. My grandmother’s favorite chair. It had
survived the destruction! A tear slipped over my eyelid as I drew circles along the wooden roses inlaid into the armrests. An
auspicious sign that the chair had survived. I would put it in our throne room, always having a piece of our grandmother with us
while Flora and I ruled together.
Servants bustled about the room, sweeping up glass, shoving the crying whores into the hall, carrying away the entire tub
with Djall’s cooked flesh and bones.
I mindlessly chewed while hardly believing I’d survived.
I killed him. I survived a battle with the dark mage.
The servants gasped, parting and looking at me for protection when two hooded mages walked into the room.
Selig’s eyes were eclipsed in shadow as he scowled down at me. “Is it done?”
I absently nodded. “It is.”
“Thank the elements.” Selig’s shoulders sagged.
His brother pulled down his hood, his gaze darting about the room. “Where’s Flora?”
I heaved a trembling breath. “Still in the sewers in an alcove beneath the green witch’s chamber.”
“I will send soldiers to fetch her,” Selig said.
My shoulders sagged in relief as more tears threatened at the backs of my eyes. “And you must find a green witch to heal
her. She’s very sick.”
Thorin puffed up his chest. “I will personally see to Flora’s care.”
I cleared my throat as the mind spinner turned to go. “Thank you, Thorin, for your help.” I owed him mine and Flora’s lives.
I wouldn’t have been able to draw close enough to Djall if Thorin hadn’t altered his memories.
“You’re very welcome,” Thorin said with a sweeping bow. “Thank you for accepting my proposal. I promise to be a
devoted and loving husband to Flora.”
I jerked back as if he’d splashed a cold bucket of water in my face. I glared at my mage. “Selig, what is he talking about?”
Selig’s mouth fell open. “I-I—”
“Did you promise him my sister’s hand?” I spat.
“I-I might have.” Selig scratched the back of his head, causing his hood to fall back. That’s when I saw the fog in his eyes.
Damn that Thorin!
My strength returned as I pushed myself from my chair. “Flora is betrothed to Prince Fachnan. You know that.”
“I know.” Selig looked at me with a dazed expression. “I’m not sure why I would’ve promised him that.”
I scowled at the mind spinner. “Thorin, I said that if you helped us, you would be allowed back at court, and that I’d banish
you again if you tried to change our memories. Why does your brother have that glazed look in his eyes?”
“I don’t know.” Thorin averted his gaze for a heartbeat, long enough to know he was lying.
Magic flooded my veins like a rush of venom as my fingers throbbed and burned. “You mistake my youth for ignorance. I
don’t tolerate liars in my court.”
When his eyes sparked white, I shielded my face while throwing out bands of magic, wrapping black strands around his
face, muting the flare in his eyes. Thorin fell to his knees with a cry, and I twisted my magic around his neck again and again.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” I seethed.
“Please, My Queen,” Selig begged, clasping his hands in a prayer pose. “Spare Thorin. Love made him act a fool. Please.
He saved your life by betraying our uncle. He saved Flora.”
Thorin fell onto his back, clutching at my choking magic and flailing around like a fish out of water.
I gritted my teeth in anger. I should’ve known better than to trust him. “But for a price. There’s always a price.” And this
time the price was far too great. I would never force my dear sister to marry this manipulator, not when I knew she was
destined for something better.
“My Queen!” Selig called out, his voice sounding strangely far away. “We must get your sister to a healer.”
Ignoring him, I wrapped more dark magic around Thorin. He was no better than his uncle, using deceit and manipulation to
get his way.
“I will arrange everything, My Queen,” Selig pleaded, his voice breaking on a raspy cry. “Please, just spare my brother.
Please!”
Thorin writhed on the floor, making odd choking sounds while trying in vain to break the bands around his face. A few
more seconds, and he would be dead. Then we wouldn’t need to worry about his mind tricks ever again.
“Please!” Selig cried again. “Think of Flora! Thorin is her friend! No more death! No more!”
I blinked at my mage and broke hold of my magic, stumbling back and falling into my grandmother’s chair. Thorin coughed
and sputtered on the ground before me. Selig’s eyes watered as he held his brother in his arms.
I gaped at them, wondering if I’d made the right decision to let Thorin live. It took me a long moment to find my voice.
“You are banished from Thebes, Thorin. If I ever see your face in my city, I will kill you. Understood?”
Thorin nodded, smearing snot and tears across his face.
When two armed fire mages came into the room, I motioned toward Thorin. “Dump him outside the city walls. Tell the
guards to kill him if he tries to come back.”
 Chapter Two
Thorin
39 years later
The human lands
beneath the Periculian Mountains
ack hunched so as not to bump his head, Thorin walked through the low, narrow underground tunnel leading to his
B mistress’s chambers while dodging dripping candlewax from the overhead sconces. He fingered the missive in his pocket
delivered by the spiderlings he’d personally trained. After years of silence, he’d finally heard from Flora. Alas, the letter
spoke nothing of their friendship. She didn’t inquire about his health or happiness. The letter was simply a plea for help. Would
he erase the memories of her daughter, a fledgling white witch?
Why do you help her, you old fool? Samael, his demon, whispered.
Shut up, he answered back.
Some days he truly resented this cursed creature that possessed his body. Samael was nothing like his old demon, so
volatile and stubborn.
And to think, he’d allowed Samael to possess his body for Flora. He’d burned the world down for her. Where was his
reward? Where was her appreciation? No, she was too busy mooning over her fated mate. Thorin should’ve killed Lord
Derrick when he’d had the chance. No doubt Derrick was the reason she didn’t write. Derrick had never been kind to him,
looking down his nose at Thorin as if he wasn’t fit to lick his boot. He probably forbade Flora from talking to other men.
Bastard.
But Derrick wasn’t too proud to ask for help when they needed Thorin’s skills. And right now, Flora needed him. And fool
that he was, he couldn’t refuse the only woman he’d ever loved. Now he had to convince his mistress to let him go. If only he
knew her demon name, he would be the one controlling her, not the other way around. He’d secretly been trying for years to
discover it to no avail. All he’d learned was that she was a lamashtu, a rare form of powerful demon, a devourer of bodies and
souls and creator of other demons.
She had somehow survived the goddess Maiadra’s purge a half a millennium ago by hiding deep underground. Then after
Maiadra’s passing, she began creating her demon army by possessing humans and Fae with demon spirits, the same way she’d
made Thorin. She now had a network of demons working for her in the human and Fae lands. Thorin wasn’t sure what she
hoped to achieve, but he suspected his mistress would settle for nothing less than world domination. Then what would happen
to him? What would happen to Flora?
Releasing a slow breath, he tapped on his mistress’s bedchamber door, then slowly swung it open, cringing when he heard
water splashing. Ignoring the trembling slaves/meals chained to her walls, he crossed the threshold of her bedchamber, the
bones of his mistress’s previous meals crunching beneath his feet. Despite the crude coverings on the floor, his mistress had an
eye for fine furnishings, mostly things Thorin had stolen for her, from the four-poster mahogany bed and the silk tapestries
hanging from the cavern walls to the iron dresser with the gilded mirror.
He stopped at the partition that divided the tub and hearth from the rest of the room, summoning the nerve to speak. Her
cackling voice was like a bludgeon to his skull as she sang a wicked tune.
“A mother’s womb
A child’s feet
So many good parts to eat
A farmer’s hands
A maiden’s eyes
Makes delicious human pies
A trollop’s breasts
A sailor’s cock
Tender meat to fill my pot”
Mm, now I’m hungry, Samael whispered.
Thorin ignored his demon. Despite his mistress’s grating voice, she had a bit of a lilt in her tone. No doubt the young
pregnant mother she’d fed on had put his mistress in a good mood. Still, he’d keep his request brief and to the point. No use
invoking her temper. He swallowed back bile before stepping around the partition, looking at the back of her hunched
shoulders and black, feathered wings that hung over the side of the tub. “Mistress?”
A splash and then a curse. “Who goes there?”
“It is I, Thorin.” He fought the urge to run when she turned around. Crimson liquid dripped off her saggy, shriveled breasts
and clung to her beastly snout and furry throat. He’d seen her naked too many times when he’d been forced to pleasure her, but
he still fought the urge to cry out in terror at the sight of his mistress bathing in blood.
 She bared sharp fangs. “What is it that you must disturb my bath?”
He tried not to look into her three crimson eyes or stare overly long at her ugly face. “Flora calls for me.”
She let out a grating laugh. “Your demon is not ready.”
“She needs me.” He winced at the note of desperation that slipped into his voice.
Samael’s laughter echoed in his skull.
He averted his gaze when she stared at him a long moment. “What spell does she cast over you that you come running like
her dog whenever she calls?”
“It is not a spell.” His anger flared, tightening his chest as he fought to keep his tone even. “It’s love.”
She dismissed him with a wave like she was shooing a fly. “I do not pretend to understand this concept of love, but I do
believe that what you feel is an obsession, not love.”
“Please, Mistress.” He didn’t care when his voice cracked. He was that desperate. What would he do if she didn’t let him
go?
“What does she want?” she slurred while sinking low in the tub.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should tell her the truth, but she always had a way of finding out when he was
lying. “For me to take her daughter.”
“The white witch?” She shot up with a gasp, splashing blood everywhere, her flappy breasts jiggling like dangling worms.
“Has she grown into her powers?”
“I-I believe so,” he stammered, wishing he hadn’t told her.
Too late now, you old fool, Samael taunted.
“Good.” She licked her thin lips with a long, forked tongue. “Bring her to me.”
His blood turned to ice. “What will you do with her?”
Her eyes flared bright, demonic red. “Does it matter?”
He clenched his hands into fists. “She is Flora’s daughter.”
“Then I will send another to do it.” Her eyes shone with malice, her wicked grin the reincarnation of Satan himself.
“Perhaps I will unleash my berchta.”
A tremor shot through him. “No!”
She slowly rose from the tub, rivulets of blood running down her shriveled, furry body. “Bring her to me, Thorin.”
His knees weakened. “Will it be a painless death?”
“That all depends on how long she fights me before she’s willing to relinquish her magic. Go, now.” She jutted a crooked
talon toward the door. “Fetch the girl.”
A fog of depression shrouded his soul. “Yes, Mistress.”
“And, Thorin, do not defy me.” She picked flesh from her fangs. “You wouldn’t want to make me angry.”

“IS SHE ALRIGHT?”

Thorin didn’t bother looking at Flora hovering behind him like a mother dragon guarding her egg. “Of course she is,” he
snapped, annoyed with Flora for asking. What did she think he’d been doing all this time? He’d been learning to master his
magic. All for her. He hadn’t hurt the girl, though he could have had he wanted—taken all her memories so that she was just a
shell. But no, he hadn’t taken them. He’d locked them away, and it would take powerful magic to open them.
“Why isn’t she waking?” Flora’s voice broke and cracked like shattered glass.
Thorin cringed. Had Flora always sounded so shrill? “She will.” He looked down at Flora’s sleeping child with fondness,
a beam of moonlight cutting through the tree branches and setting her skin aglow. She looked too much like her mother, only she
still had a youthful sheen to her skin, whereas Flora’s skin was wan and, dare he say, a little sallow. He wondered if Tarianya
was as kind as her mother had been. He had a feeling she was. She’d been born a green witch, after all.
Samael’s chuckle reverberated low and deep in his skull. Don’t fall for the child, you old fool, he scolded. Our mistress
plans to eat her.
Shut up, he snapped, but said nothing more. Damn the demon for being right. But what if Thorin didn’t bring her to his
mistress? What if he hid her away from his mistress’s spies?
Then you’re an even bigger fool than I imagined, the demon hissed.
Derrick swore and Flora gasped when a wolf howled somewhere in the distance. The shifters would not be happy if they
learned what Thorin had done to their witch. And the moon was full tonight, which meant the shifters would be more feral,
more deadly.
Thorin scanned the forest’s shadows, the birds and other creatures going eerily quiet as a chill swept up his spine. He
scowled at Flora and Derrick. “We need to go.”
 Derrick frowned down at him, his wings spread wide like imposing black sails, and Thorin was painfully reminded of his
feeble wings. Perhaps that had been Derrick’s intention. Thorin wouldn’t put it past the preening peacock. “How will you get
her back?”
He bristled at the skepticism in Derrick’s tone. “The same way I came.”
Derrick crossed beefy arms over his chest. “I’ll follow you and carry her.”
Indignation flushed his face. “You think I can’t carry her?”
The hint of a smirk tugged at Derrick’s mouth. “I know you can’t.”
Thorin clenched his fists by his sides as he slowly stood, his knees cracking with the movement. How badly he wanted to
blast Derrick’s mind until he was nothing but an empty shell, but curse the bastard, he was right. Thorin wasn’t strong enough to
carry her all the way to his mistress.
His gaze was drawn to the girl when she let out a soft moan and rolled onto her side, pressing a cheek into the damp earth.
The sweet curve of her face reminded him too much of a younger Flora, her chestnut curls spread out across the forest floor,
her long, dark eyelashes fanning her face. Her beauty rendered him momentarily speechless. His stomach soured at the thought
of his mistress plucking out those pretty eyes, slicing open her slender neck, and cutting off her large, firm breasts. How could
he let her harm this sweet child?
You’re a fool, Thorin, Samael taunted. Our mistress will find you and eat you both.
And then you’ll be sent back to hell with no host, Thorin reminded him.
Our mistress will find me a new host.
Are you sure? Thorin teased. Maybe I’ll tell her keeping the witch from her was your idea.
Samael gasped and Thorin’s blood heated, but the demon went silent.
“Maybe this is a bad idea.”
Thorin glared at Flora as she wrung her hands together. “This was your idea.” Had she always been so infuriating? He was
starting to wonder why he’d ever loved her.
She chewed on her bottom lip while casting Derrick a pleading look. “I know, but I’m having second thoughts. The human
lands are so far away and dangerous.”
He stalked up to her, his knees creaking like old floorboards. “As dangerous as waging war against a thousand dragon
army?”
She backed up a step, her frightened gaze shifting from Thorin to her daughter. “Shiri and the children will be devastated.”
“They will be more devastated if the dragons kill your daughter,” he warned. “Not to mention, Fachnan won’t stop with her.
He’ll destroy your entire family.”
“He won’t,” she said on a rasp, the look in her eyes reminding him of a lamb at the slaughter. “He was my friend.”
“Listen to me, Flora.” Thorin snickered, shaking his head. And to think, he’d once thought Flora clever. “Fachnan isn’t the
same man you knew fifty years ago. If he can destroy an entire shifter town, including women and children, do you honestly
think he’ll spare your family? Your shifter granddaughters?”
Flora shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “She doesn’t have to go now that you’ve taken her memories.”
“What do you think the lycan king will do when he discovers his secret weapon like this?” Thorin waved toward Tarianya
with a curse. “She has to go, Flora.”
“But she’s my baby.” Her voice splintered as she bit down on her knuckles.
“Don’t worry, my love.” Derrick clutched Flora’s shoulders, desperately searching her eyes as if he was about to go off to
war. These two truly were dramatic. “After you change her features, I’ll accompany them and see to it she gets to safety.”
“Yes, my love. Please go with her.” Flora dried her eyes before casting her daughter a lingering look. “Let me pack her
things first, a hairbrush and ribbons, and a spare dress.”
Thorin growled under his breath at the thought of flying with Derrick. No doubt the mage would want to carry both him and
the girl. How humiliating. They didn’t know he’d planned on traveling through the underground demon tunnels. The same
tunnels that would lead them straight to his mistress. He looked down at Flora’s sleeping daughter once more. She looked too
much like her mother. She had the same pouty lips, the same thick eyelashes.
He remembered with fondness how Flora had been the only member of her grandmother’s court to offer him a kind word, a
sweet smile. How could he hand over Flora’s precious child to his mistress? Perhaps he would let Derrick carry the girl over
the Periculian Mountains and the Werewood Forest. Far, far away from his mistress’s watchful eye. Thorin’s wings weren’t
very powerful, but he could fly in short spurts. He would force himself to keep up with them. He had no choice, for he knew his
mistress would send demons for them soon.
You cannot hide from her forever, Samael hissed.
He ignored his demon. Samael had always been too loyal to their mistress.
When the girl cried out in her sleep, he fought the urge to stroke her face as something stirred deep within his soul. For
Flora’s sake, he would keep the girl safe. And perhaps he could teach the girl to love him in a way her mother never would.
 Tarianya
EMBER. AURORA. I’M sorry I failed you.
I awoke to a pounding in my skull, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. I slowly sat up as that pounding turned to a
dull throb. I rubbed grit from my eyes that burned as if I’d stared too long at the sun.
My gaze wandered to a crackling campfire in the middle of a clearing surrounded by tall, narrow, balding trees, hardly
more than a few leaves on their branches. This place seemed foreign, odd. A shiver stole up my spine, and I pulled a thin
blanket over my legs, wrapping my arms around myself. I didn’t belong here. But where did I belong?
I arched back, fear numbing my veins when one of the bald trees moved. But, no, it wasn’t a tree. It was a man. A tall,
stooped man in brown robes, a scraggly, gray beard coming halfway down his chest.
“How do you feel, Anya?” the robed man asked.
Anya, who is she? “W-what happened?” I rasped, my throat feeling almost as gritty as my eyes.
The old man knelt beside me, his bones creaking with the movement. He held out a tin cup of what looked like water, his
dull eyes crinkling as he smiled. “You don’t remember?”
I took the tin from him, taking a hesitant sip and then several more gulps of the cool water. “No,” I finally said after
finishing the tin.
“You fell and hit your head.” He clucked his tongue while patting my knee. “Don’t worry, daughter. You’re safe now.”
I handed the tin back to him, alarm bells blaring in my skull. My father? That couldn’t be right. “Y-you’re my father?”
He sat beside me with a grunt, stretching his bony legs by the fire. “I am.”
“Oh.” I scratched my head, trying, and failing, to remember anything about this man claiming to be my father. Then again, I
couldn’t remember anything about myself. Was he right? Had I hit my head? If so, how much damage had I done that I couldn’t
remember anything about my life? Memories of my dream slowly filtered into my mind. Two toddler girls with silver-blue eyes
crying in my arms. I rocked them and whispered soothing words into their ears, but they continued to sob. So strange.
“Father?” The word felt heavy, foreign on my tongue. Though I wanted to believe this old man with the kind, smiling eyes
was my father, some other part of me feared this was all a deception.
He leaned into me, so close, I could smell the stale tang of his breath. “Yes?”
I scratched the back of my head, trying to recall anything other than the toddlers’ striking eyes. “I had a nightmare.”
He frowned, holding out his arms to me. “Come here, child.”
I fought the urge to recoil. I didn’t want him to hold me. I wanted to run far away. I looked around for any sort of escape but
was met with odd glowing eyes blinking back at me from the shadows. The clouds overhead muted the light from the twinkling
stars, and I feared I wouldn’t make it far if I escaped this strange place. When he gave me an expectant look, I felt compelled to
obey and let him take me in his arms.
“Tell me about your dream.” His breath in my ear was too hot and heavy, and his beard itched my face as he clutched my
back. I tensed when he kissed my cheek, then froze when his hand wandered to my knee before traveling back up my thigh.
I struggled to break free of his grasp to no avail. How strange that I felt so weak. Why had I thought I was stronger? “I had
twin daughters,” I said, wondering why I was confessing my dream to him when I wasn’t sure if he would use my secrets
against me. “No matter how much I held them, they wouldn’t stop crying.”
“Strange,” he slurred, not sounding the slightest bit interested.
“Yes,” I mumbled. After nearly choking on his sour breath, I turned my head away.
He squeezed me tighter. “Well, it was just a dream. You have no children, my love.”
My love? I pressed my hands against his chest, trying to push him away. “It felt so real.”
He wouldn’t let go. “It wasn’t.”
I froze when his hand moved between my thighs.
“Father,” I ground out, pushing harder against him, “let go of me.”
“Why?” He slid his hand dangerously close to that juncture between my thighs. “Don’t you want me to give you comfort?”
“No.”
“I’m trying to soothe you.” His hands were all over me like a sea creature’s tentacles.
“Father, stop.”
“But I love you, Flora,” he whispered.
Flora? Why had he called me Anya before? I managed to break free of him, slapping his hands away. Bile rose into my
throat when I looked into his foggy eyes as sweat beaded on his brow.
I scrambled away, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “You’re not my father!”
His dull eyes sharpened then narrowed.
Chest heaving, I slowly stood and took a step back. I had to get out of here. But where would I go? What new threats would
I meet in that dark forest?
“Where do you think you’re going, girl?” he asked with a sneer while rising up like a phantom emerging from a crypt.
No, he definitely wasn’t my father. I gritted my teeth, and a strange sensation flooded my fingers as if my hands were being
swarmed by a thousand buzzing insects. Magic, an inner voice whispered to me. Use it. “Far away from you.”
His low, dark chuckle wrapped around my chest like a vise, and I was suddenly struck by a blinding white light. I
screamed, falling to my knees before sinking into oblivion.

Thorin
Two years later
The human lands
Beneath the Periculian Mountains
THORIN FELL TO HIS knees, discarded skulls breaking beneath his weight. The chains around his ankles rattled as pain
lanced through his bones while his mistress held him trapped under her binding spell. One drop of blood. That’s all it had taken
all those years ago to bind him to her. He’d been fighting it these past two years, having his sweet Anya make him potions to
dull the pain of the very blood boiling his veins. Those potions had worked well enough, for Thorin’s powerful magic
protected him from the worst of the poison, unlike weaker mages who easily succumbed and died from the binding spell.
Together Thorin and Anya had been happy, content. Though she’d fought him when he’d tried to take her to bed, he’d found
other women to sate his lust.
But then a few nights ago he’d taken an older witch to bed, not realizing she was a spy for his mistress. She’d coerced him
to travel with her to the northernmost outpost of the human realm, dangerously close to the Werewood Forest. He should’ve
known better than to trust her, but fool that he was, he’d been too addicted to that thing she did with her mouth. Then she’d
drugged him to loosen his tongue, and he’d revealed dark secrets that he realized Anya had heard when he thought she’d been
sleeping by the fire. Those secrets weren’t exactly truths, though. They were just fancier lies packaged with neat little bows.
But the damage had been done. Anya had heard him. There was no other explanation for why she’d run straight into the
Werewood Forest, taking his heart and happiness with her. He loved Anya, more so than Flora. More than anyone. Even though
she balked at his kisses and fought his touch, she’d become like a daughter to him.
And now here he was, feeling as if he was being suffocated by the low, dark cavern walls, chained up in his mistress’s
chamber alongside her other prisoners. Just another one of her meals. Her other prisoners had gone eerily quiet when she’d
approached, only reminding Thorin of their presence with their ragged gasps and rattling chains.
He cried out when she twisted a noose of magic around his ribcage.
“You betrayed me, Thorin!”
Candlelight flickered behind her, bathing her hideous, furry face in an orange glow. She jutted a foot forward, giving him a
glimpse of crusty, curled toenails sticking out from beneath her robe. He’d had the displeasure of seeing her naked before, her
feet curled up in the air while he was forced to fuck her. Caked in filth, her toes looked part avian, part human. She had wings
like a bird, though her face looked more like a demon canine, a twisted, wicked snout and jagged, rotting teeth, and a third eye
in the center of her forehead. She had saggy, human breasts that dripped poisonous milk and a distended stomach as if she was
with child. But he knew the only children she carried in her gut were the ones she’d eaten. She was the most hideous, terrifying
creature he’d ever known, and she was about to make him her next meal.
She let out a low, deep snarl, like a dragon about to pounce on a goat. “For two years you’ve alluded me while keeping the
white witch to yourself,” she hissed. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t pluck out your eyes and slice off your genitals.”
“I was saving her for you, for the right time,” Thorin lied. Truthfully, he’d rather die a thousand deaths than surrender his
sweet Anya to this monster. “The girl’s white magic hasn’t fully manifested.” That part was true. Her magic was on the cusp of
greatness, though by hiding her in the human lands he was able to mute some of her power. A witch’s magic was always
stronger north of the Periculian Mountains.
His mistress’s red, glowing eyes narrowed. “You lie.”
“I don’t lie.” He swallowed back grit and blood, his innards quaking when she pointed a crusty talon at him.
“Perhaps I should ask your demon, Samael.” She flashed a fanged grin. “Samael, I summon you to tell me the truth.”
Lie, he told his demon, or she will destroy us both.
Fuck off, old fool, his demon retorted. “It is true that she hasn’t reached her full powers,” Samael answered, using Thorin’s
tongue to speak. How he loathed this monster inside him. His last demon was far less volatile, far less stubborn.
Their mistress knelt beside them, her rancid breath hitting Thorin like a poisonous fog. “How close is she?”
“She was close when we last saw her,” Samael answered, not bothering to try to protect Anya. Bastard.
Their mistress licked her lips with a long, forked tongue. “Where is she?”
 “She escaped after she overheard the old fool spilling twisted secrets to his whore,” Samael blurted while Thorin fought
for control of his voice.
“My spies saw a witch and a Fae fly out of the Werewood Forest on the back of a dragon, after the dragon ate my berchta.”
Their mistress stood, letting out a wail that shook the marrow of Thorin’s bones. “And now all is lost.”
Now you’ve done it, Thorin grumbled to his demon. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut.
“All is not lost, Mistress,” Samael said with a serpentine hiss, “for we have something that will help you find the white
witch, her sister, her mother, and her twin daughters.”
Thorin tried to slam his hand over his mouth, but Samael fought him. Stop! he cried. I’m begging you! Have mercy on
sweet Anya!
Their mistress’s eyes widened as she cupped her sagging breast. “Twin daughters?”
“Children,” Samael said in a sing-song voice. “Young children.”
Thorin’s heart shattered. Anya’s children. Flora’s grandchildren. Why had he agreed to submit to these monsters?
“Witch children are so tasty!” Licking her lips, she rubbed her clawed hands together. “Do they have magic?”
Noo! Thorin’s voice surged through his skull like water breaking from a dam as he tried, and failed, to silence his demon.
“Not as strong as their mother,” Samael taunted, “but strong enough.”
She jutted a clawed foot toward them. “What do you have?”
“Tucked deep inside the side pocket of Thorin’s bag,” Samael said, the words spilling past his traitorous tongue despite
Thorin’s struggle to regain power over his body. “She dropped it when she escaped.”
Their mistress lunged for the bag that Thorin had been wearing when he’d been caught by her demons. Letting out several
curses, she dug around the bag before losing patience and ripping open the bottom with her talons.
With a squeal, she held up the rusty silver object. “A hairbrush.”
Thorin cried out, his shoulders slumping in defeat. I hate you, he said to his demon.
The feeling is mutual, you useless old man, Samael hissed, then he forced Thorin’s mouth to curve upward in a wicked
grin. “Used by all the Avias women. The pale hair was from the witch after a masking spell. Use the darker strands beneath.”
Their mistress’s ugly eyes bulged as she plucked strands of dark hair from the brush. “All of the Avias witches?”
“With the exception of Queen Malvolia,” Samael answered.
Why would you give her that? Thorin chided.
Shut up, you old fool.
Their mistress let out a wicked cackle. “I will use their hair to conjure a tracking spell.”
“To do what, Mistress?” Thorin blurted.
Her nostrils flared as she scowled down at him. “Never you mind, Thorin.”
“No. I won’t let you harm Flora’s family.” Thorin fought against his restraints, putting every ounce of strength into his
magic. Though his blood boiled and soured, he still manifested enough power to strike his mistress with a blinding ball of
light. She fell back with a squeal, hitting the wall before disappearing in a flash, taking the brush with her. He collapsed to the
floor, her venomous magic boiling him alive. But then he saw it, the key to his chains. It had fallen before she’d disappeared.
Don’t do it, Samael warned.
Fuck off, Thorin seethed ignoring the fire that raced through him before lunging for the keys. If he could get away, he might
just survive his mistress’s wicked magic. The other prisoners cried out, begging him to free them after he unlocked his chains.
He ignored them. He didn’t have time for them to slow him down. He had to get to Flora and Anya before his mistress did.
 Chapter Three
Princess Shirina Avias
Present day
Abyssus Castle, Southern Delfi

“I s Aunt Malvolia going to kill us?”

My heart twisted as if it had been strung up in a noose as I knelt beside my four-year-old niece, Aurora, taking her
small hand in mine. “No, darling, but you both need to listen carefully to me.” I looked from Aurora to her identical twin,
Ember. Both had the same silver-blue eyes and slightly sharpened canines (thanks to their shifter blood) and slick chestnut hair,
though Ember’s hair was longer, usually worn in braids down her back. “You must stay in your nursery tonight,” I said to them,
giving Aurora a stern look while recalling just a few days ago they’d both nearly been killed by demons when Aurora
teleported them outside the castle. “No leaving unless your lives are in danger.”
Ember’s eyes were wide with fear. “Will our lives be in danger?”
Drae, the oldest of my three mates and Lord of the Castle, knelt beside me, his long black wings draped behind him. “We
will do whatever we can to keep you safe,” he said as he stroked Ember’s cheek with the back of his hand, “but we haven’t
found those bad demon mages yet.”
Ember leaned against his knee as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And to think, a week ago my nieces were
terrified of him. My heart warmed to see how affectionate my mate was with the girls, and I couldn’t stop thinking of all kinds
of naughty ways to reward him.
“Ember, have you or your friends seen any more demons?”
I looked over my shoulder as my other mate, Blaze, hovered behind us, his arms folded over his chest, his cropped dark
hair looking windswept as usual. By ‘friends’ he meant the ghosts that visited Ember. My young niece was a spirit talker. I still
hadn’t decided if her unusual magic was a blessing or a curse.
Ember blinked up at Blaze. “No, Uncle.”
“We must be vigilant,” Blaze said, his dark gaze sweeping the room before he glared at the double doors that led to the
outside balcony. “Sol and Bertram will be back.”
Blaze was the second oldest of my three mates, all brothers with warm complexions and impossibly broad chests and
backs to support their wide wings. All of my mates had golden eyes that turned dark when they were angry, crimson when they
were using their fire magic. I was so fortunate to be bonded to not one but three handsome brothers. I just hoped my mates and I
survived long enough to cherish our newfound love.
“So nobody else is demon possessed?” Nikkos, my youngest mate asked as he knelt down beside me. Nikkos was the
sweetest of my three mates, with boyish cheeks and an infectious smile. “Not the other mages or Malvolia?”
Ember shook her head. “No, Uncle.”
My knees weakened with relief. “Thank the elements.” I didn’t know what we would have done had Malvolia been demon
possessed.
“Will you stay with us for supper?” Aurora asked, looking from me to my mates with a plea in her eyes and a pouty bottom
lip.
“No, sorry.” I cupped her cheek. “We must dine with Aunt Malvolia.” I could hardly believe the words that had come out of
my mouth. That I was now serving the sorceress queen I’d been taught to fear my entire life. The same queen who’d put a price
on mine and my sister’s heads when we were still in the womb.
“May we eat with you?” Ember pleaded, trading Drae’s knee for mine.
“Tonight’s supper is just for adults. It’s important you stay here with Mrs. Euphemia.” I pulled back, grasping both of their
hands. “Can I count on you to be good?”
“Yes, Auntie,” they said in unison.
I took both of them in my arms, kissing each of their cheeks while I tried not to think overly long on the danger we all faced
if Aunt Malvolia turned on us. “I love you both so much,” I murmured while squeezing them.
They wrapped their arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. “We love you, Auntie.”
I breathed out a ragged breath while looking over their heads at Drae, a plea in my eyes.
I will do everything to keep you and the girls safe, Shiri, he said to me through thought.
I nodded as a knot formed in my throat. I only prayed everything was enough.

I COULDN’T BREATHE, and not just because this itchy corset was far too tight and the air too stifling. I was seated by the
sorceress queen in a room with her fire mage army. One wrong look, one wrong word, and this entire dining hall could go up in
flames.
I was grateful for Nikkos who sat beside me and Blaze who sat across from us as my aunt sat between us at the head of the
table. But it felt as if there was a canyon between us and Drae at the other end of the table, several other fire mages and a few
witches between him and us. I hated the formalities that came with dining with royalty. I would’ve been far more comfortable
dining on a balcony or even in the nursery.
“Where are the children?” Malvolia asked while eyeing me over the rim of her wine goblet.
I cleared my throat, trying not to choke on breadcrumbs that felt like gritty sand in my mouth. “With their nursemaid.”
Malvolia set down her goblet, giving me a long look. “They cling to you like you’re their mother.” I couldn’t tell by her
tone if she was impressed or annoyed by my dedication to my nieces.
I shrugged. “In a way I am.”
She folded her hands in front of her while a servant took away her plate. “How long have you been caring for them?”
“Since they were born,” I said, momentarily distracted as a servant took my plate. I was still not used to being waited on by
anyone. Even worse was that none of the line of servants standing behind us looked familiar, and they all wore crimson jackets
and gold sashes. Had the queen brought her own servants?
“Their mother didn’t care for them?” Malvolia asked as another dish was placed in front of her.
I struggled to remember what course we were on or what the food tasted like as dishes clanked behind us. “She did.” I felt
like a flower wilting beneath the noonday sun as Malvolia gave me a look of disbelief. “She was oftentimes preoccupied,” I
added.
Malvolia leaned forward, her dark eyes narrowing. “With what?”
I took a fortifying sip of wine. My explanation was about to get awkward. I only hoped Malvolia believed me. “Plotting
Fachnan’s demise.”
Her eyes practically bulged out of her skull. “Why?”
Blaze cleared his throat. “Her mates were the sons of the Lupine kings.”
Malvolia looked from Blaze to me. “Killed in the attack?”
“Presumably,” Blaze answered for me.
Thank you, I said to him through thought, relieved I didn’t have to lie to the sorceress queen, for I couldn’t be sure if they
were dead or alive.
“So she was plotting with the surviving lycans to kill Fachnan?” Malvolia asked.
I pushed parsnips and peas swimming in a creamy sauce around on my plate. “Yes.”
Malvolia gave me a long look. “But they never followed through.” It was a statement more than a question.
I set down my spoon, smoothing trembling hands down the folds of my satin gown. Here was my opportunity to talk about
Thorin, but I would feed her information about the mind spinner in small doses. Eventually, maybe she’d believe me when I
told her Thorin had altered her memories, too. That he’d altered everyone’s memories. “My parents told me Tari had been
killed by a bear, but I later found out they had Thorin erase her memories and take her.”
Not too much, Drae warned me through thought.
I know, I answered.
“Of course they did.” Malvolia’s lips twisted into a snarl, fire flashing in her eyes. “They had to ensure she fulfilled the
prophecy to help Fachnan kill me. And you said yesterday that Thorin’s spells last longer now?”
“Yes.” I dared not look in Drae’s direction, though I could feel the heat from his stare upon me.
Malvolia twirled the stem of her wine goblet in her hand. “How long?” she asked casually as if we were discussing the
changing of the seasons.
“Days. Weeks. Years.” I took another sip of wine while averting my gaze. “I’m not sure.” A half-truth, for it was obvious
his spells lasted years if Malvolia still thought my parents had tried to overthrow her. But what I didn’t know was if there was
any way to reverse those spells. If they lasted more than years. Centuries. I fought the panic searing through my veins. Forever.
Malvolia set down her goblet, her dark gaze sweeping the table. “The mind spinner was nothing more than an annoyance
when I knew him decades ago, but with that kind of power, he’s far more dangerous.”
The others at the table mumbled their agreement, though my mates had gone eerily quiet, all of them looking at me like stag
caught in a hunter’s crosshairs.
“He is,” I said to my aunt, wondering where I’d found the courage to speak. “Your mages shouldn’t hesitate to kill him.”
“They won’t,” she said while sharing looks with a few of the mages closest to us.
The mages let out low, deep chuckles that shook the marrow of my bones. One in particular, with russet hair and wings,
unnerved me the way he so boldly looked at Malvolia as if he was mentally undressing her. Then again, many mages were
looking at her that way, and I suddenly realized these weren’t just my aunt’s mages—they were her lovers, too. She smiled
coyly back at him. Perhaps her good mood was an auspicious sign.
I could tell her now, I projected to Drae. She already doesn’t like Thorin, and I think she’d be open to hearing it.
 Too soon, he answered, his gaze averted while he laughed with a few mages close to him. Let’s see if she reaches her own
conclusion first.
I wrung my napkin in my lap. We were playing a dangerous game, and I wasn’t sure we would win no matter what move we
made.
“I take it you dispatched of the giants?”
“W-what?” I stammered, looking back at my aunt.
“Yes,” Blaze answered her. “Shiri did.”
How does she know about the giants? I projected to all of my mates.
I don’t know, Drae answered. He was no longer laughing with the other mages, but looking down the long table at us, the
overhead candlelight reflecting in his eyes.
She could’ve come to the conclusion after seeing all the flattened trees outside the castle, Nikkos said.
Possibly, Drae answered, though I could sense doubt in his voice.
Malvolia’s gaze centered on me. “You used your siren voice?”
I visibly swallowed. “Yes.”
She arched a thin brow. “And they obeyed without a fight?”
I was all too aware that the room had gone silent and all eyes were upon me. My gut twisted with unease, but then Nikkos
squeezed my knee. Just that one simple act grounded me and gave me courage. I offered him an appreciative smile. “They did,”
I answered, keeping my gaze centered on Malvolia.
She leaned forward, clutching the sides of the table, sparks flaring in her eyes. “How many giants were there?”
I looked to Drae. I’d been so consumed in searching for my mate and nieces and sending the giants away to count their
numbers.
“About fifty to sixty,” Drae answered.
“Elements!” Malvolia let out a shrill burst of laughter before looking down the table at Drae. “I wonder why you sent for
me, Lord Inferni, when your mate so easily dispatched of the giants.”
Did you send for her? I projected to my mate, unable to keep the note of accusation from my voice.
No. Drae visibly tensed, the veins on his neck protruding while he clutched his wine goblet.
Who did? Blaze asked.
Later, Drae answered before facing Malvolia with a serene smile. “I flew ahead of my brothers and Shirina and arrived a
day earlier.” He looked at me with a flash of pride in his eyes. “I had no idea our mate could dispatch an entire army of giants.”
Malvolia rubbed her chin, her piercing stare like the sun’s harsh rays boring holes into me. “I see.”
“I didn’t know I could do that, either,” I answered truthfully.
“You don’t have much experience using your magic,” she said, a hard look in her eyes as if she was waiting for me to
crack.
Elements, she unnerved me. I knew my magic was probably stronger than hers, yet I still feared her. “Not when I was
forced to hide it from my parents,” I said on an exhale.
Something in her hard gaze softened, and the look of pity she gave me made me want to crawl beneath the table. It felt
wrong bonding with her over a mutual distrust of my parents. Some part of me still felt like I should be loyal to them, like I was
a terrible daughter for aligning with Malvolia.
“You need a tutor, Niece,” Malvolia said to me. “Someone to help you refine your magic.”
My stomach soured, for I had the feeling Malvolia would want to be that tutor. “I’m sure I can manage on my own over
time.”
“We don’t have time.” She leaned back in her chair, her dark gaze sweeping over the table. “War is coming to the continent.
My spies say Duke Viggo and Fachnan will form an alliance soon. With your sister coming into her powers, it’s only a matter
of time before they launch an attack, which means we must attack first.”
I tensed at the mention of Tari, feeling the need to defend her. “My sister won’t—”
“You’re all returning with me to Thebes tomorrow,” Malvolia interrupted, her words clipped and stern, leaving me no
room for argument. “I will personally see to your training, and I must present my niece at court.” She flashed a tight smile, one
that didn’t match the steel in her eyes. “We will have a grand celebration.”
I swallowed a lump that had wedged in my throat. I was fully entangled with the sorceress queen now, and I wasn’t sure
how I would find my way out of it. I bowed my head. “You’re too kind, Your Majesty.”
“Please dispatch with the formalities, Niece.” She waved me away like she was swatting a bug. Then that glint in her eyes
softened once more, and for a moment I felt as if I was looking into my mother’s eyes. “We are family.”
Family. If only our blood ties would assure my safety in her court. “Yes, Aunt Malvolia.”
“Much better.” Her thin smile flattened into a grim line as she pushed off from her chair and stood. Chairs clamored around
us, and Nikkos grabbed my elbow, pulling me to my feet as everyone else rapidly stood, their wings slackened, their eyes
vacant as they went as still as statues.
 “If you’d excuse me,” Malvolia said, her eyes on Drae at the other end of the table, “I’ve had a long journey.”
“Of course.” Drae bowed stiffly, his wings ruffling behind him. “The servants have prepared my mother’s bedchamber for
you.”
“Excellent.” She waved to the rest of us. “As you were.”
Everyone fell back into their chairs while exhaling ragged breaths, their shoulders slumping in relief.
What the hell was that about? I projected to Nikkos as I sat back down beside him.
Court protocol, he answered with a wink while squeezing my hand.
My parents had never taught me anything about court protocol. We’d never had to get up from our chairs when my mom
excused herself from the table. I had a lot to learn, and I feared I wouldn’t be up to the task. How would my aunt have reacted
if Nikkos hadn’t pulled me to my feet?
I stiffened when my aunt stopped between Nikkos and me.
“You’ve hardly touched your food, Niece.”
It took all my effort not to flinch when she touched my cheek, her fingers unusually warm. I tensed when she leaned over
me.
“I sense no malice in you,” she whispered in my ear.
I didn’t know if I should’ve felt panic or relief. “There is none,” I whispered back.
“Good, because you know what I do to family who betray me,” she hissed, the words like flaming arrows between us. She
kissed my cheek, her cold lips a stark contrast to her searing touch. “Goodnight, Niece.”
“Goodnight, Aunt,” I rasped, shocked I was able to find any words, much less voice them.
She released me and stood, nodding toward Drae and then Blaze and Nikkos. “Lord Inferni, young lords.”
“Goodnight, Your Majesty,” they said in unison, their voices sounding so polished, so at ease, a stark contrast to the
spinning vortex of emotions inside me.
She stood at the threshold, holding out both hands behind her. Heat flushed my face when two beefy fire mages flanked her,
the one with the russet hair and another with hair as black as a raven’s wing, taking her hands. Though Fae-kind could live
hundreds of years and aged slower than humans, these two mages looked particularly young. They both had soft faces like
Nikkos. She giggled like a child when the mage with russet hair swept her into his arms and flew her to the upper levels, the
other mage following closely behind.
Her lovers? I projected to my mates.
Her current lovers, Drae emphasized. She only keeps them a few months at a time.
She rotates them with each new season, Blaze said.
And she doesn’t favor one over the other? I asked. She hasn’t found one to marry?
She rotated Mantus every few years, but otherwise, no. Nikkos grimaced.
Mantus. I remembered my mates telling me my sister had killed him. One more strike against Tari. As if Malvolia needed
any more reasons to hate her.
Queen Malvolia has declared she’ll never marry, Drae added.
Why? I pressed while pushing food around on my plate.
We suspect she doesn’t want a husband trying to take the throne from her, Nikkos answered.
I worried my lip, my gut twisting too much for me to enjoy the platter of food before me. My aunt has trust issues.
Blaze’s laughter echoed in my head. You’re just now figuring it out?

AFTER SUPPER, DRAE ushered us into his bedchamber, locking the doors behind him. My mouth watered and my stomach
grumbled when I saw servants had left a tray of drinks and sweet biscuits, even colorful tarts. I’d been too nervous to eat
supper, and now my hunger was catching up with me.
Blaze paced in front of the hearth, tension lines framing his eyes. “Fuck. Who sent for her?”
“Romulus,” Drae said as he crossed over to the server, uncorking a jug of wine and pouring it into a goblet. “He didn’t
agree with my decision not to alert her about the giants.”
When he held the goblet out to me, I shook my head. “None for me.” I sat at the table and poured a cup of frothy milk. “My
head’s still swimming from the wine at supper.”
Nikkos sat opposite me and piled two trays with biscuits and tarts, handing one to me. I thanked him with a kiss.
“What are you going to do?” Blaze pressed while resuming his pacing.
“I can’t punish him.” Drae crossed over to him and handed him a goblet of wine. “She’ll know.”
Blaze tossed back his drink in a few large swallows before placing the empty goblet on the mantel. Legs braced apart, he
crossed his arms, leveling Drae with a dark look. “This could play in our favor. She won’t question your loyalty if she thinks
you sent for her.”
“Otherwise,” Nikkos added while shoving a biscuit into his mouth. “Sol and Bertram would’ve alerted her first.”
Blaze nodded his agreement before giving Drae a pointed look. “She needs to know she can trust you.”
Drae stood in front of the hearth, clutching his wine goblet while staring into the crackling flames. Finally, he heaved a long
sigh. “As much as Romulus’s betrayal burns, you’re right.”
“You need to eat, my love.” Nikkos pointed to the platter of biscuits. “Food will fuel your magic.”
So will vigorous lovemaking, I thought, then berated myself for thinking of sex at a time like this. I took a bite of biscuit,
moaning when warm butter and sugar exploded in my mouth. Elements, I was hungry. I finished off that biscuit and then ate
another and another.
After I had my fill, I looked around the room at my mates. “Where shall I sleep now that Malvolia has my bedchamber?”
Blaze waggled his brows while looking at me like a starving wolf with a bone. “There’s plenty of room in my bed.”
“You may sleep in my bedchamber with Nikkos,” Drae said. “Blaze and I have much to do before the morrow.”
Blaze’s features fell before he plastered on a tight smile.
I couldn’t deny I shared his disappointment. I’d been looking forward to sharing a bed with all three of my mates. Then
again, there was also the matter of where the girls would sleep. Did I trust Mrs. Euphemia to keep them safe? What if Sol and
Bertram returned? Or what if Malvolia decided she no longer trusted us?
“You’ll need rest before the journey,” I said to them.
Drae crossed over to me, kissing the top of my head. “We’ll find you later tonight,” he murmured, his warm hand across my
back making me want to melt into him.
“Do you need help?” Nikkos asked.
“One of us must stay with Shiri and the girls.” Drae visibly swallowed, his eyes flaring. “Sol and Bertram might return.”
I shuddered as a tremor coursed through me. Malvolia’s mages or not, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.
Nikkos licked his lips, a gleam in his eyes. What shall I do with you all to myself? he projected through thought.
“Before you get any ideas, the girls are sleeping with us,” I warned. “I won’t be able to sleep without them near.”
I understand. He flashed a mischievous grin. That doesn’t mean we can’t sneak off to the bathing chamber together.
My face flushed as I remembered the last time we’d snuck off into a bathing chamber after he’d healed from a traumatic
head injury. Funny how that night had felt like weeks ago, yet only a few days had passed. I feared time would pass much too
quickly while we traveled back to Thebes with Malvolia. All too soon, and I would be forced to face down my sister as fate
propelled us faster toward an unavoidable war.
 Chapter Four
Lord Draevyn Inferni
he night was especially cloudy, blotting out most of the stars above as I flew up to the battlements. I was not looking
T forward to this confrontation with the captain of my guard, but it had to be done. I had to know how much he’d already
said to Malvolia and how much more he planned on telling her. Then I’d decide what to do with him. I’d left Blaze in
charge of the castle’s servants. I wanted him to find out more about those nurses. I’d already interrogated the head housekeeper
who’d hired them and had yielded little results. Blaze had the gift of persuasion and could charm the scales off a dragon. If
anyone could find out more about those nurses, he could.
Romulus was crouched on the topmost turret, his pale wings a stark contrast to the night sky as he whittled a dragon out of
wood. I wondered why he’d chosen to isolate himself on this turret. When he didn’t look up at me, I had my answer. He’d been
waiting for this confrontation. Tiles shifted beneath my feet as I found my footing a few paces above him, knowing I might need
the advantage should things get physical. He’d already proven he couldn’t be trusted.
I cleared my throat. “Romulus.”
He blew dust off the sculpture then cast me a cursory glance, his bottom lip bulging with tobacco, his bushy white
eyebrows lifting. “My Lord.”
I folded my arms, growing more agitated by his insolence. “Anything you’d like to say?”
He pocketed his blade and sculpture and slowly stood, a strand of his long white hair blowing across his face. “I have no
regrets, My Lord.” He ruffled his pale wings and protruded his chest. “I have been loyal to the Inferni family for three hundred
years, and I will continue to be so.” He paused, eyeing me through slits. “Even if your definition of loyalty varies from mine.”
I gritted my teeth. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, but bad enough. “I see.”
“Do you?” He sounded too much like a father scolding a child, reminding me that he was three centuries old, and one of, if
not the oldest, Ravini to have survived the Crimson Tide almost a quarter century ago. Most every Ravini over the age of
twenty had perished during the Crimson Tide. “If I hadn’t sent for Malvolia, Sol and Bertram would have. How would that
have made you look?”
I swallowed at that, my confidence faltering. “She believes it was me who sent for her?”
“She does.” He spit a wad of tobacco over the side of the turret before squatting back down. “And I have no reason to tell
her otherwise.”
How was I supposed to respond to that? “I suppose I should thank you, then.”
He pulled out the dragon statue, whittling the wood once again. “I sent for her once before against your father’s wishes, but
by the time her army arrived it was too late. Flora and Derrick had already killed your parents.”
He disobeyed orders twice not out of disloyalty, but because he thought he knew better than his lords. I didn’t know if I
wanted to flog him or thank him. “Why do you think my father didn’t want you to send for her then?”
“He trusted Flora and Derrick.” He paused his whittling to look up at me, lines tightening his pale eyes. “He didn’t know
they’d betray him.”
As much as Romulus believed he knew better than his lords, he was missing one key detail—Thorin had altered his
memories, too. Now I wondered how much had his mind been altered and could I ever trust him again?
“That night my parents were killed.” I forced a note of casualness into my voice. “Do you remember seeing the mage named
Thorin?”
“The mind spinner?” He arched a brow, his blade suspended over the dragon’s wing. “Yes, I believe he was there.”
I swore I saw a fog settle in his eyes—the mind spinner’s spell. “You’re not sure?”
He scratched the back of his head. “My memories are a bit fuzzy.”
“Why do you think that is?” I pressed, hoping I could stir an ember of truth in his memories.
“There was a lot going on that night, Flora and Derrick murdering your parents, the fire that almost killed your brothers.”
He looked at me through eyes so blurred, it was like staring through rain-fogged windows. “Why do you ask?”
That spell had been cast almost twenty-five years ago and was still holding strong. The realization of the mind spinner’s
immense power was like a shot of venom to my blood.
“Do you know why we brought Shiri and the girls here?” I finally asked, trying my hardest to keep the note of fear from my
voice.
Romulus squinted up at me as most of the fog cleared from his eyes, leaving behind a thin sheen. “Just what you told me,
that her parents had turned on her, and she had to escape.”
I nodded. “Flora and Derrick were going to use Thorin to erase Shirina and the girls’ memories and take them away.”
“How,” he asked, “when his spells only last a few hours?”
A few hours. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry. I cautiously eyed him for any signs of recognition. “Shiri believes
his magic has strengthened and his spells last years now.”
Another random document with
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"O sir, you wouldn't be so wicked, surely!" Dick broke in, in
accents of alarm. "We should starve outright, I believe,
without mother's Wednesday and Saturday earnings at the
Manor House. And the children ain't half fed as it is!" He
wound up with another flood of tears.

"Then hold your tongue, now that you know what your
silence is worth," replied Stephen. "I'm sure you needn't
make such a cry-baby of yourself. I haven't hurt you, and
I've given you a jolly little box."

"But the box isn't any use to me," Dick argued. "Please—
please give me back my shilling, Master Stephen. 'Tis
dreadful to be hungry; and mother started off to work this
morning without a bit of anything inside her lips, because
she knew if she ate breakfast there wouldn't have been
enough for the little ones."

"Don't trouble to tell lies," the squire's son said, as he

turned contemptuously away. "Pick up your bundle and go
home, or the bogies that hang about these woods after dark
will have you."

Without another word or look, he then strode off, and was

quickly out of sight. When he was visible no longer, Dick
Wilkins sat down on his load of sticks, hid his face in his
hands, and wept long and piteously.

Dick was a brave-hearted lad, and at last recovered himself.

He determined that he would keep the treatment he had
received at Stephen Filmer's hands a secret from his
mother. He would be brave, and bear his trouble alone.

Up went the fagot on the child's thin shoulders. Try as he

might, Dick could not whistle to-day, as he usually did,
because his eyes were so full of tears that he had all he
could do to see where he was going. He trudged on, fighting
against his grief, and by the time he reached home, he had
quite composed himself.

To his surprise, Dick found that Molly had already kindled a

fire with some of the wood he had gathered earlier in the
day, and had set the tea-things out upon the snow-white
cloth.

"O Dick!" the little girl exclaimed, "What a long time you've
been! And how red the wind has made your poor eyes look
—just as if you had been crying!"

"Mother isn't back yet, I suppose," remarked the boy, taking

no heed of the comment his sister had made about his
appearance.

"No; I expect, though, she'll be here soon now. Come close

to the fire, Dick—do! and warm yourself. The sticks you
fetched this morning blaze up splendidly; they give out
better heat than any we've had as yet."

"That's right!" in gratified accents. "I'll bring home some

more to-morrow."

And Dick Wilkins took a stool, a sharp knife, and a basketful

of sticks, and sat down making clothes' pegs in the poor but
well-warmed kitchen; whilst Molly stood knitting by the
firelight; and the twins and Stranger occupied a prominent
position on the hearth, and watched the lifting cover of the
already boiling kettle.

CHAPTER IV.
 TEN SHILLINGS REWARD.

"MOTHER, how fast the days go by!" remarked little Dick

one evening after the other children had gone to bed. "The
year is nearly out—only a few days left of it now. O mother,
don't you hope the next will be a better one for us all than
this has been?"

"Indeed I do!" sighed Mrs. Wilkins, and a hot tear fell upon
her work; she was knitting to-night by the uncertain light of
the fire. "Life's a struggle at the best of-times for poor
people," she went on; "and when the father of a family is
taken, it's bound to go hard with those he leaves behind."

"Ain't you straining your eyes?" asked the boy anxiously.

"Do let me light the lamp for you! We've been more sparing
than ever over oil of late, and I can't bear to think you may
be hurting your sight."

"I don't need the use of my eyes to knit, dear," was the
widow's return. "If I was sewing, 'twould be different."

"But the room looks so dark and gloomy," persisted Dick.

"And for some reason or other, it seems more silent than
usual. I wonder," turning his head to look about him, "what
it is I miss. Oh! oh!" To Mrs. Wilkins's dire dismay, he
started to his feet and pointed at an empty corner near the
door—"I know now!" he gasped forth. "It's the clock that's
gone! O mother! Mother! Where is it? What has become of
it? 'Twas the one thing that father prized above all else we
had, 'cos grandfather gave it to him on his wedding-day."

"Ah, my child," sobbed the poor woman, "I have been

forced to sell it to Squire Filmer in order to pay the rent.
The landlord was here yesterday, and he threatened to sell
us up if the money wasn't paid by to-morrow. It's a great
blow to me, but we must live."

There was a long pause; then Dick said: "O mother,

however can we get the money for poor Stranger's tax? O
mother! Mother! Whatever happens, we can't part with our
dog."

Laying aside her knitting, Dick's mother placed a tender

hand upon his heaving shoulder. "My dear," she said, "the
thought of it has worried me nearly as much as the trouble
about the rent; but I can't see any chance of our being able
to get the money to pay his tax."

"Then you really think we shall have to part with him?" cried
Dick. "Oh! God must be very cruel if He lets it come to that.
I know our Stranger wouldn't ever love other folks as he
loves you and me and the children. And if we sold him or
gave him away, his new owner might kick him about as—as
some people do their dogs."

"Well, there's all next month for us to look around and try
to serape the money together, dear," the widow summoned
heart enough to remind her little boy. "As long as it's paid
by the last day of January it will be in time; and if 'tis right
for us to keep our dog, why then we shall find ways and
means for doing so. Don't fret, child, more than you can
help. Whatever happens will be sure to be for the best.
Now, dry your eyes, and we'll have our supper cosy like in
front of the fire. If you lose heart, Dick, what'll become of
us all?"

But though the old year died and the new one took its
place, no sign of better fortune could Mrs. Wilkins or Dick
see. Stranger must be disposed of—that seemed certain
beyond a doubt; and if no one could be induced to offer him
a home, why then he would have to be killed. It would be
terrible indeed to part with so faithful a friend.

One evening at the end of January, little Dick was walking

homeward through the village by his mother's side, when a
large, square piece of paper, placed in a conspicuous
position in the post-office window, attracted his attention,
and he paused abruptly, saying,—

"Wait half a minute, mother; I want to read this notice."

Mrs. Wilkins stopped at once, and together they approached

the window, whereupon Dick read aloud:—

"LOST, in this neighbourhood (probably a month

or six weeks ago), a small carved ivory match-
box.
Finder will receive TEN SHILLINGS REWARD
by returning same to Colonel Flamank, Leigh
Grange."

"Dick, Dick, my little boy, what's the matter with you? Are
you ill?" demanded Mrs. Wilkins; for the small face at her
side had grown suddenly as pale as death, and the child
had clutched convulsively at her arm.

"Ill?—No! No! No!" was the emphatic reply. "I'm well

enough; only I can scarce believe 'tis true!"

"What's true, Dick? I don't know what 'tis you're talking of."

"Why, the box, to be sure—the little carved ivory match-box

that the colonel's offering ten shillings reward for. See!"
drawing it from his pocket, where he had thrust it in disgust
weeks and weeks ago. "Here it is! Now we can claim the
reward, pay dear old Stranger's tax, and keep him; besides
having a whole half-crown to spend as we're minded to
afterwards."

"O Dick, how wonderful! How like a miracle!" ejaculated the

woman, with a sob of thankfulness. "But are you sure
there's no mistake? Are you sure that that's the right box?"

"As good as sure," declared Dick. "Anyhow, I'll very soon

make certain. I shall go to Leigh Grange at once and ask to
see the colonel. Then if it's the right one, we'll pay
Stranger's tax the first thing to-morrow morning, and after
that's done, we shall feel he's safe."

"Very well, my dear; I daresay, we shall all sleep the better

to-night for having the anxiety about the poor dog taken off
our minds. But why didn't you tell me you had found that
match-box, Dick? You're not generally so close about
things."

"I didn't tell you because I didn't find it, and I could not
bring myself to worry you by saying how it got into my
hands," was the child's admission. Then, as they walked on
side by side in the direction of Leigh Grange, Dick narrated
the story of his meeting in the woods with Stephen Filmer,
adding, "And I thought God was so cruel to let that great
bully rob me of the shilling when I wanted it so badly. I little
dreamed that things would turn out as they have."

And now that the silver lining had appeared to his cloud,
Dick laughed merrily at the thought of how vexed the
squire's son would be when he discovered what he had lost
by not being able to restore the box.

"How shall you account to Colonel Flamank for having the

match-box in your possession?" Mrs. Wilkins presently
interrogated. "If he asks questions, you'll be bound to tell
him the whole story that you've just told me."

Dick hesitated a minute, after which he said,—

"I hadn't thought of that; and I shouldn't like to tell tales on

Master Stephen, though he did serve me shamefully bad
that afternoon in the woods. But there! Like as not, the
colonel won't want particulars; and if he doesn't, why then,
I needn't give him any."

Arrived at the entrance of Leigh Grange, Dick bade his

mother not to wait for him, lest she should take cold by
standing. Some seconds later, he was walking up the
colonel's trim carriage-drive, his heart beating, his legs
shaking beneath him, with nervousness and excitement.

CHAPTER V.
DICK'S INTERVIEW WITH THE COLONEL.

UPON Dick's stating the nature of his business at Leigh

Grange, he was admitted at once and shown into the
library, a handsomely-furnished room, the walls of which
were lined by rows and rows of books. For many minutes he
was left alone, and during that time, he feasted his eyes on
his surroundings. At length, however, he heard a footstep,
and a second afterwards Colonel Flamank came in.
"Good-evening," said that gentleman, in pleasant tones.
"What do you want with me, little boy?"

"Please, sir, I've brought back the match-box that you lost
some weeks ago," said Dick Wilkins, his heart beating so
loud that he fancied his questioner must hear it.

"You have brought back my match-box!" exclaimed the

colonel. "Come, now, this is very strange. Squire Filmer's
son came to me but a half-hour since, and said he had
found it, and would let me have it to-morrow. But what is
the matter?" he added, in surprise. "Surely you are not
going to cry!"

And the speaker took the match-box from the child's

shaking hand, whilst the latter burst into tears.

"O sir! O sir! Please to believe me when I tell you all about
it," sobbed poor Dick, "'cos Master Stephen's treated me
shameful, he has! He's the biggest bully in the place, and
he stole a shilling from me when he found me alone in the
woods."

Then seeing it was useless to keep back anything, the little

boy recounted the story of how the match-box had been
forced upon him in exchange for the coin that the artist had
given him for fetching his paints from the church. And so
earnest was his voice, and straightforward his manner, that
his hearer was inclined to think he told the truth.

"And you mean to tell me that you submitted to be robbed

by young Filmer?" questioned the colonel. "Why did you not
report the matter to his father? The squire would not have
shielded him, I am sure, if you had told him what you have
now told me."
"I—I threatened Master Stephen that I would; and he said if
I did, he'd get my mother out of her charing and washing at
the Manor House," sobbed the child bitterly. "And if you
don't believe me about the shilling, sir, please to ask the
artist gentleman, and he'll tell you that he gave it to me."

"And supposing I prove your story to be correct, and give

you the ten shillings reward, how shall you spend the
money?" asked the colonel.

"I shall pay the tax for our Stranger, sir. We should have
had to get rid of him if—if it hadn't been for this."

Dick Wilkins's countenance brightened.

"Stranger is a dog, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir; a retriever. He came to our cottage one awful

stormy night. His paw was cut and bleeding; and some
body'd been trying to drown him, 'cos he'd got a rope with a
stone at the end of it tied around his neck; and mother and
I let him in, and did what we could for him."

"So he's stayed with you ever since! I believe I have seen
him in the village on several occasions—a handsome
creature he seemed too."

"Yes! Yes!" assented Dick enthusiastically. "And if I'd had

him with me when Master Stephen came along that day, he
wouldn't have let him bully me—not he!"

The colonel remained silent for some minutes after this. He

put on his glasses and examined the match-box closely. At
length he turned towards Dick Wilkins again.

"I feel much troubled by what you have told me," he

commented. "And at the expense of some pain to the squire
and his wife, I mean to see you righted. It is not so very
late in the evening yet; therefore you and I will go down to
the farm together, and see the gentleman who, you say,
gave you the shilling."

"Yes, sir," agreed Dick, without the least hesitation. "He's

almost sure to be in, 'cos the daylight's too far gone for him
to be painting still."

Accordingly the two set out to pay a visit to the Smerdons'

lodger. But scarce had they gone a hundred yards in the
direction of the farm, when they came face to face with
Stephen Filmer. A strange expression overspread the bully's
features as he recognized the pair, and he would have slunk
past without speaking had not Colonel Flamank thought fit
to stop him.

"Wait, Stephen," said he; "I wish to speak to you about the
lost match-box that you assured me you would bring back
to-morrow. This lad has already brought it to me. What light
can you throw upon the matter?"

"I found the match-box," answered the boy sulkily. "I only
lent it to Dick Wilkins, and I suppose he's been dishonest
enough to claim the reward."

"Oh!" cried Dick, in shocked accents. "Oh! how can you say
so, Master Stephen?"

At this point, Colonel Flamank interposed and bade Dick be

silent.

"Stephen," he afterwards said, "you are telling me a

deliberate falsehood! You did not lend the match-box to this
child; you forced it on him, in return for his shilling, which
you had stolen."
"Well, he agreed to the exchange," said young Filmer,
forgetting that a moment since he had stated that the
match-box had been lent. "Do you think, if I'd treated him
as he says, that he wouldn't have made a fuss and told my
father about it?"

"You know what threats you employed to silence him,

Stephen," rejoined the colonel. "You know that you sealed
his lips by saying you would get his poor widowed mother
out of her work at the Manor House, if he carried his story
to the squire."

"And so I will, now he has sneaked upon me," was the

savage response.

"No, indeed, you will not," Colonel Flamank assured him.

"Had you shown any regret for your cowardly conduct, I
might have been inclined to spare you by letting the matter
pass. But you are far from repentant; and it is time a stop
was put to your tyranny. I shall thoroughly investigate this
affair, and prove or disprove the truth of Dick Wilkins's
statement. After that, I shall make it my business to lay the
facts of the case before both your parents. Now you can go
your way."

And the squire's son passed out of sight, for once in his life
really frightened and abashed.

"O sir!" gasped Dick, when he had gone, "I'm 'fraid he'll do
some mischief even now if he can. Supposing he should get
my mother out of her work at the Manor House! We should
starve! And—and our landlord's a hard man, he is!"

"Don't fear, my lad," returned the colonel reassuringly.

"Squire Filmer will see that no injustice is done. But here,"
he added, "we are already at Farmer Smerdon's gate. You
shall stay where you are, whilst I go in and interview the
donor of the shilling. And if I return satisfied with what he
tells me, I will at once hand you the ten shillings reward."

"Yes, sir, thank you. I'll wait here."

Nor had he long to wait, for Colonel Flamank returned to

him a few minutes later with a smile of encouragement
upon his face.

"Have you seen him, sir?" asked little Dick, scarcely able to
suppress his anxiety.

"Yes, and I am ready to give you what I promised."

So saying, the colonel laid a half-sovereign in Dick Wilkins's

hand. It was the first gold coin the child had ever touched.

CHAPTER VI.
HARD TIMES.

How proud Dick felt next day when he walked into the
grocery establishment that was also the post-office, laid his
half-sovereign on the counter, and said he had come to pay
his dog-tax. Stranger was with him, and in such high spirits
that he found it hard to believe the dog did not understand
the nature of their errand.

"So you're not going to get rid of the retriever after all,
then," remarked the post-mistress, after filling in and
handing Dick the receipt for his money.
"No," said the little boy; and then he pointed at the notice
that had not yet been removed from the window, and
added, "That's how I got my half-sovereign, Mrs.
Mortimore. The colonel gave it to me for bringing his match-
box back to him last evening."

"You don't say so, Dick Wilkins!" ejaculated the woman,

with good-natured interest. "Well, you are lucky, and no
mistake! Some one told me only yesterday how upset all
you children were at the thought of parting with your dog.
See! here's your two-and-sixpence change; and here's a
quarter-pound packet of tea that you can take home to your
mother as a present from me. Tell her I hope she'll enjoy it.
She was looking shocking thin and pale, I thought, when
last I saw her."

"Thank you very much for the tea," said Dick gratefully.
"Mother'll be glad of it, I'm sure." And with this he turned
towards the entrance of the shop, and would have gone his
way had not the talkative post-mistress called him back to
the counter again.

"If you take my advice, Dick Wilkins," she went on, "you'll
get that mother of yours to go and see the doctor. She's a
failing woman—you mark my words. Get Dr. Rogers to give
your mother something—there's a good boy!—or, in my
belief, you won't have a mother to care for you much
longer."

Now Mrs. Mortimore was a kind woman and a well-meaning

one. But she lacked discretion, as this fact she would have
realized could she have heard Dick Wilkins sob himself to
sleep in his own little room when night-time came. Never
did child love parent more devotedly than this one did his
mother. Therefore the post-mistress's words of warning
sank deep into his heart, and haunted him increasingly
during the long hours of the night.

Days passed, and work became even scarcer than hitherto.

The cold got more intense; and great was Dick's distress
one evening on finding his mother employed in cutting up
her warm shawl to make bodices for the twins.

"Mother," he burst forth, "oh, please, don't do it! You'll catch

your death of cold if you go out in this bitter wind without
anything over your shoulders. Let me go to the rector's wife
and ask her for a couple of cast-off wraps for Willie and
Joe."

"No, no! I couldn't think of it, Dick! I never begged in my

life!" was the widow's answer.

"Do you feel bad this evening?" asked the boy in anxious
tones. "I mean—does your side ache worse than usual?"

"No, dear, not worse than usual. Why, Dick, folks would
think I was a grand body, if they knew how careful you were
of me."

"I want you to see the doctor, mother. You do look ill and
bad!" declared Dick gravely.

"That's nonsense! It's the cold that nips me up," was the
prompt return. "'Tis freezing hard to-night again. I shouldn't
be surprised if the ice on the lake bears soon. Then you and
the children'll be able to go and watch the skating between
whiles. Lord Bentford is certain to throw his grounds open
to the public as usual. O—oh!"

"What made you cry out like that? Why, you've got your
hand tied up! What's amiss with it?"
"There's a sore place on one of the fingers; and when I
knocked it against the table, it made me cry out. 'Twill be
easier in a minute;" and Mrs. Wilkins turned her face aside
that Dick might not see it was drawn with pain.

"How long has your finger been bad?" the little boy
demanded.

"Not more than a few days. I hurt it on Tuesday with a pin

that one of the servants at the Manor House left in her
apron when she gave it to me to wash; but I didn't bind it
up till an hour ago."

"And you've been working with it sore all day!" cried Dick,
in much concern. "Hasn't it pained you, mother?"

His mother confessed that it had been painful, but that a

pennyworth of ointment would soon put it to rights. Dick,
however, insisted on her seeing the doctor, who told her
that her finger had been poisoned by the stab of the pin. He
told her, too, that her blood had got into an unhealthy state,
and that she must have plenty of good food if she was to
get well.

The poor woman was in despair. One by one her few

remaining sticks of furniture were sold for bread. Poor Dick
was sure that God would never desert them, and that help
would soon arrive.

Then all at once a bright idea flashed into Dick's mind. To-
morrow would be Saturday, and school holiday. He would
put a gimlet in his pocket, go to Lord Bentford's lake, which
by now was bearing, and try to earn a few coppers by
putting on the gentlefolks' skates. He would not breathe
one word of his intention to any one; no, not even to his
mother. So he went supperless to bed that night, full of
hope for the success of his new venture on the morrow.
 CHAPTER VII.
A GALLANT RESCUE.

JUMPING out of bed early next morning, Dick dressed

himself in haste and went downstairs. It did not take him
long to sweep the kitchen, dust it, and kindle a bright fire;
and by the time that Mrs. Wilkins, Molly, and the twins put
in their appearance, the table-cloth was laid and the kettle
was singing cheerily.

The Wilkins's repast that morning was a poor, poor meal,

and Dick did not stop long over it. Before half-past nine, he
set out, gimlet in pocket, for Lord Bentford's lake.

Although he was early in getting there, he found at least

two dozen skaters already arrived. It had been freezing
hard all night, and the ice was in excellent condition—as
smooth as a sheet of glass.

"Blest if there isn't Widow Wilkins's youngster setting up in

opposition to us, Bill!" exclaimed a rough-looking idler to an
equally rough-looking companion.

The two men were standing on the edge of the lake,

whither they had come to earn a few shillings by putting on
people's skates, an employment needing but little exertion.
Turning a scowling countenance upon the child, the speaker
then asked with an oath,—
"What's your charge, young professional? Penny a pair, eh?
And chain the gentlefolks' attention whilst that sharp-nosed
retriever of yours makes off with a rabbit from the
plantation hard by."

Dick started and looked round quickly.

Not till this minute had it dawned on him that his dog had
followed. Had he loitered on his way, or even glanced once
behind, he must certainly have seen Stranger stealthily
tracking him. But he had done neither; and now as he
stared in vexation at the animal, his commonsense told him
that he must take him home before Lord Bentford or his
gamekeepers had a chance of seeing him.

This, however, was not to be. For no sooner had Dick

determined to retrace his footsteps than a heavy hand was
laid on his shoulder, and an angry voice demanded,—

"Have you had permission to bring that dog of yours here?"

"No," returned Dick, "I haven't."

It was Lord Bentford's head gamekeeper who had put the

question.

"I've only this minute seen him. He must have followed me

without my noticing. But I'm going to take him away at
once. He hasn't done any harm.—Stranger, old man, come
on."

But for once, in a way, the retriever was pleased to be

disobedient. He had caught sight of a couple of Lady
Bentford's collies scampering across the frozen lake, and
with a bark of delight had set off to join in their play—
behaviour that filled his young master's heart with dismay
and humiliation.
"Let me catch the lawless brute as much as looking into one
of the plantations and I'll shoot him, as sure as my name is
what it is," cried the exasperated gamekeeper, turning
angrily away.

Dick trembled at the threat, and set off after his wayward
property. But the ice was slippery, and he fell once or twice
and hurt himself badly. He had just picked himself up, when
a piercing shriek rang through the air, and was followed by
a woman's scream of alarm and a man's loud shout for
help.

The refreshment tent was deserted, and every one made a

dash for the spot whence the cries had come. Even
disheartened Dick and his retriever followed.

"A rope, a rope!" some one was calling. "Bring a rope this
minute. There's a child in the water, near the boathouse,
where the ice has been broken for the swans. Quickly,
quickly, or we shall be too late!"

"No, a ladder will be better," declared a second voice. "A

long ladder and a rope." Thereupon, a third informed the
crowd that it was Lord Bentford's little boy who was in peril
—his only child, indeed, and the heir to all his land.

"'Tis a wonder if the kid ain't drowned, for he's tumbled in

at the deepest part," was the grim remark of one of the
idlers who, a couple of hours since, had jeered at little Dick.
"But then Death don't make no distinctions. And it's no
more for his lordship to lose his youngster than 'twould be
for me to lose one of mine."

"Oh, my child! My darling! He will be drowned—I know he

will!" wailed the distracted mother. "Can nothing be done to
save him? Oh, he will get beneath the boathouse, and—"
"Please—please, your ladyship," gasped Dick, elbowing his
way through the crowd to the place where both parents
were standing, "Stranger'll do it, if you let him try.
Stranger'll save the little gentleman."

"Stranger?" Lord Bentford panted. "Who is Stranger, child?"

"My dog, your lordship. Here he is. He's a first-class

swimmer is our Stranger."

Then leading the retriever to the brink of the ice, Dick

pointed out the spot where the child had sunk.

"Fetch him," he cried incitingly. "Fetch him, good dog, good

dog!"

And needing no further bidding, Stranger plunged into the

lake and kept himself afloat while he looked eagerly about
him.

For several seconds there was breathless silence. The

unfortunate little boy had not yet risen, and there was the
chance that when he did he might come up at a spot that
was completely covered by ice. Happily, however, this
contingency had not to be met; for presently a dark object
rose a few feet from the boathouse, and the keen-sighted
dog struck out gallantly towards it. A moment later,
Stranger had fastened his long white teeth into the child's
kilted skirts, and set out snorting for the bank.

"Bravo! Bravo!" burst from at least a dozen lips.

Then as the dog, well-nigh exhausted, came within reach,

willing hands were stretched forth to relieve him of his
burden; and the snow-sweepers, making their reappearance
with ropes and a long ladder, saw that their assistance was
not wanted after all.
"Tell me," cried Lady Bentford, wringing her hands over the
dripping form of her child, "does he still breathe?"

"Yes, he is living," came the answer.

Hearing which, Lord Bentford, almost beside himself with

gratitude, turned impulsively aside to address the owner of
the dog.

The long spell of misery and privation, however, coupled

with the terrible excitement of the morning, had proved too
great a strain for Dick Wilkins's endurance. He had borne up
until the safety of Lord Bentford's son had been
accomplished. He had kept his senses whilst the crowd had
cheered and commended his dog; but now, he sank down
with a groan upon the bank close to the boathouse, and ere
his lordship reached his side consciousness left him, and he
fainted.

CHAPTER VIII.
STRANGER'S MISSION FULFILLED.

IT was not until several weeks later, that entire

consciousness returned to little Dick. And then, to his great
amazement, he found himself lying in a strange bed, too
weak to move either hand or foot, whilst a cheerful looking
nurse, clad in a dark dress and white cap, cuffs, and apron,
sat on a chair near the window watching him.