1

Twenty-seven years later

LIVING HIGH IN the imperial palace, Isadora had barely felt the passing of winter. Thick walls, well-fed fireplaces, and luxurious clothing and blankets kept the residents of Level One quite comfortable—even the witch whose duty it was to care for the Empress Liane and her unborn child.

Unborn children, to be precise. Twin boys, though no one knew that but Isadora and the empress herself. The Emperor Sebestyen would be furious when he found out that his wife was carrying two sons, rather than one. It would muddy the imperial bloodline to have two heirs born at almost the precise same moment.

Spring was coming. On occasion Isadora would open the window of her small room and breathe in the warming air as if it fed her soul. She was tired of this damned palace. Tired of the people and the chores and even the luxury.

But until she was strong again and could find her sisters, this was her place. Liane needed her. She had pledged to protect the empress and her children, but once the babies arrived, there would be no reason to stay.

The strength of her magic had begun to return slowly but with a certainty she felt to the depths of her soul. The destruction of the past several months had depleted her powers; it was only through protection that the magic grew strong again. On his final visit to her, the spirit of her late husband had told her that she must choose. Dark or light. Goodness or evil. For a long time she had danced on the edge of both, but one could not live forever in that gray domain.

There were times when she believed that destruction came to her more naturally than protection, but in order for that power to grow she would need to embrace it fully. Over the years her sisters—and her beloved Will, before and after his death—had kept the protective side of Isadora's nature alive and thriving. They were not here, now.

She could not believe that Juliet was dead, as Bors had reported before his death at the emperor's hand. Sophie might be safe in the company of her husband, but still, she would need her sisters again. Juliet had said as much on the night the soldiers had kidnapped them and burned the cabin that had stood for more than three hundred years, and where her sisters were concerned, Juliet was rarely wrong. Rarely, not never.

Isadora knew she could not remain in this place. With the coming of spring, the return of her magical strengths, and the birth of Emperor Sebestyen's heirs would also come the time for Isadora Fyne to leave this dreadful place.

Standing at the window of her quarters on Level One, Isadora closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of the air. It was the first truly warm day of spring, and she longed to be out of this palace, away from the crowded city of Arthes, away from all these people who were not her own.

She longed to be on Fyne Mountain, surrounded by the land she loved and close to her sisters. They would rebuild the cabin Emperor Sebestyen's soldiers had burned to the ground, and things would be as they had once been. Sophie would cook and sing and smile and embrace the world around her. Juliet would tend the gardens and treat those women who were brave enough to seek out a healer who was also a witch. And Isadora would protect her sisters with every ounce of power she possessed.

On Fyne Mountain she could care for her sisters, and live in isolation, and mourn the husband who had been gone so long.

Will's spirit had not visited her in months. She expected him to be true to his promise and never visit her again, which meant he was finally truly gone. In the past few months, Isadora had been thrown into a new type of mourning. She'd buried Will's body years ago; now she had to bury his spirit just as deeply.

It was harder than she had imagined anything could ever be.

"Isadora." The breathless voice came with the opening of the door to the tiny room she now called home.

Recognizing the voice, Isadora turned slowly and glared at the intruder. Mahri's eyes widened. She backed into the hallway, closed the door solidly, and knocked.

"Come in," Isadora said.

Again, the door swung open. "I'm sorry," the young girl said. "I forgot. The Empress Liane wishes to speak with you. Now."

Isadora sighed as she headed for the doorway. She was quite sure Liane had never been gifted with patience, but becoming empress had only exacerbated the failing. Pregnancy had not softened the empress. Instead, she grew more strident and demanding with every passing day. Liane expected her orders to be obeyed immediately, and she was quite comfortable with issuing orders. If she wasn't family—Liane's brother Kane had married the youngest Fyne sister, Sophie—Isadora would not feel compelled to stay here one minute longer.

The twins Liane carried would be Sophie's nephews. The Emperor Sebestyen was blissfully ignorant of his wife's relation to the rebel Kane Varden, which was a blessing. Sebestyen in a foul mood was a frightening sight, indeed. Learning that his beloved wife was the sister of one of the rebels who was trying to overthrow him would definitely put a nasty turn on his disposition.

Liane had been confined to bed for several weeks in order that her children might have time to grow before they were delivered into this world. She had not taken to her ordered bed rest very well. The empress was irritable, demanding, and potentially dangerous, so it was odd that in a twisted sort of way she and the witch who tended to her had become friends. It was possible neither of them had ever had a true friend until this moment in time.

Isadora entered the imperial bedchamber just as Liane grabbed a pretty vase of greenery and rare flowers—courtesy of her husband—and threw them at the man who was trying to deliver her an early supper. The servant ducked at an appropriate moment, and the vase flew past his shoulder and shattered against the wall.

Copyright © 2006 by Linda Winstead Jones