[Magic Kingdom of Landover 05] - Witches' Brew Read Free Page A

look at him, her gaze fixed on the tree. “Mistaya!”
    Nothing. She was a statue.
    Questor Thews came up beside him. “Lost in her own little world again, it seems, High Lord.” He gave Ben a wink, then cupped his hands about his mouth. “Mistaya, come now!” he ordered, his reedy voice almost frail.
    She turned, hesitated a moment, then hurried over, her long, blond hair shimmering in the sunlight, her emerald eyes bright and eager. She gave Questor Thews a brief smile as she darted past him.
    She barely seemed to see Ben.
    Nightshade watched the child move away from the oak to rejoin the others. She kept still within the concealing branches in case one among them should think to take a closer look. None did. They gathered about the food and drink, laughing and talking, heedless of what had just taken place. The girl was hers now, the seeds of her taking planted deep within, needing only to be nurtured in order that she be claimed. That time would come. Soon.
    Nightshade’s long-anticipated plan was set in motion. When it was complete, Ben Holiday would be destroyed.
    The crow with red eyes remembered—and the memories burned like fire.
    Two years had passed since Nightshade’s escape from the Tangle Box. Bitter at the betrayal worked uponher by the play-King, stung by her failure to avenge herself against his wife and child, she had waited patiently for her chance to strike. Holiday had carried her down into the Tangle Box, trapped her in the misty confines of the Labyrinth, stolen her identity, stripped her of her magic, broken down her defenses, and tricked her into giving herself to him. That neither of them had known who he or she was, nor who the other was, did not matter. That the magic of a powerful being had snared them both along with the dragon Strabo was of no concern. One way or the other, Holiday was responsible. Holiday had revealed her weakness. Holiday had caused her to feel for him what she had long ago sworn she would never feel for any man. That she had hated him always was even more galling. It made acceptance of what had happened impossible.
    She kept her rage white-hot and close to the surface. She burned with it, and the pain kept her focused and certain of what she must do. Perhaps she would have been satisfied if she had been given the child in the Deep Fell following its birthing. Perhaps it would have been enough if she had claimed it and destroyed its mother in the bargain, leaving Holiday with that legacy as punishment for his betrayal. But the fairies had intervened and kept her from interfering, and all this time she had been forced to live with what had been done to her.
    Until now. Now, when the child was old enough to be independent of humans and fairies alike, to discover truths that had not yet been revealed, and to be claimed by means other than force. Mistaya—she would be for Nightshade the balm the Witch of the Deep Fell so desperately needed to become whole again and at the same time the weapon she required to put an end to Ben Holiday.
    The crow with red eyes looked down on the gatheringof family and friends and thought that this was the last happiness any of them would ever know.
    Then she lifted clear of the leaf-dappling shadows and winged her way home.

Rydall of Marnhull
    The next morning, the sunrise still a crescent of silver brightness on the eastern horizon and the land still cloaked in night’s shadows, Willow jerked upright from her pillow with so violent a start that it woke Ben from a sound sleep. He found her rigid and shaking; the covers were thrown back, and her skin was as cold as ice. He drew her to him at once and held her close. After a moment the shaking subsided, and she allowed herself to be pulled gently down under the covers once more.
    â€œIt was a premonition,” she whispered when she could speak again. She was lying close and still, as if waiting for something to strike her. He could not see her face, which