Chapter 32

Eastmarket District, Oldtown

The orc led Elisabeth back down to the cave-like room to the others. She found Nimah and Katherine cuddling the little girl who was sobbing her heart out.

“Who is she?” she asked.

Katherine got up and walked over to her and whispered, “She is Lan’s ward. Her name is Katrinka. From what I know, her mother dropped her off with Lan and asked him to take care of her. He’s been taking care of her for the last couple of months. The Goddess only knows what he will do when he finds someone has taken her.”

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over Elisabeth. She sank to the floor. “If the kidnapper was who I think it was, Lachlan doesn’t have to worry about finding her.” She gave Katherine and Niamh a terse account of what she had just witnessed.

“Well, good news, bad news. Now we know where the mind mapper came from and we know the Sidhe are up to their neck in this.” Niamh squatted down next to her and Elisabeth. “What are we going to do? We have no defense against one of them, especially a royal.”

“Wait, I have an idea, don’t talk for a minute,” Elisabeth said.

While the two of them silently watched her, Elisabeth mentally walked through the spells she had read from the scroll, muttering to herself.

“I have a way, but you guys aren’t going to like it.”

“Tell us, you stupid witch.” the Asrai halfling’s calm facade was fraying. “I’ve worn the torc before and know what is likely to come. Only a miracle can get us out of these things.”

Katherine gave her a quelling frown, then nodded encouragement to Elisabeth. “She’s not wrong. If you have an idea, go ahead tell us what you’re thinking.”

Niamh looked at the half blood wood elf. “Before we go any further, who are you? How did you end up here?”

“I’ve had many names, but Wraith is as good a name as any other. As to how I came to be here, my stupidity is as good an answer as any.” She retreated to her alcove, careful, Elisabeth noticed, to stay within whispering distance.

“Okay, Wraith,” Nimah responded with open distrust. “Keep your secrets close. We have more pressing issues. But don’t think we won’t be revisiting things with you. Go on, Elisabeth.”

“My time with the scroll gave me a binding spell I can cast to protect us from being controlled by the Daoine. I think it will even work with the torcs around our necks. The spell binds us into what the druids called a Cyfamod. A coven of sorts.”

“Okay, what is that?”

“Think of it as the four of us pledging to a sisterhood. The druids called the binding, deirfiúracha m’fhuil—blood sisters. It was an earlier, more intense version of our more modern coven.”

“First of all, how can you cast this thing? You can’t use magic with these collars on,” Niamh said. “I can’t even shift.”

“It’s old magic. I don’t think the torcs can stop it. I think it’s worth a try.”

“Hold on a minute. Tell us the pros and cons. Start with the cons. What do you mean, a sort of coven? The aunties have taught us all our lives to stay away from the blood magic.”

“Actually, it will make us more like a family than a coven. Now that I think more about it—maybe closer than a family. Anyway, one drawback is that the Aunties, especially mine, will lose their minds when they find we’ve left our respective covens. I’ve never heard of that happening. The Red Queens might get involved. We will be essentially starting a new coven—one with a shifter and maybe an Asrai halfling in it to boot.”

“What else?” asked Wraith.

“There is no going back. We do it, we pledge for life. The spell binds us forever.”

Niamh fingered the torc around her neck. “So bottom line, the choice is we get enslaved now, probably get our throats cut and our blood drained in the next few days as part of some demonic ritual, or we join a kind of sorority/sisterhood and maybe run into some disapproval later from some cranky old women.”