The Wise Women

Chapter 29

'The Gellin incident was a one-off,' Otto pleaded. 'The culprits have been punished. I've offered my sincerest apologies to the Empress. I've begged her forgiveness. I've promised faithfully that nothing like that will ever happen again . . .'

'How can we be sure?' Alaric thumped the table with his fist, spit flying from his mouth.

Nesta's heart-flame was burning dangerously low. It was little more than faint glow now, like a candle at the end of its wick.

If the heart-flame goes out completely, it's very hard to reignite, Leonia's words echoed in her mind.

No! I can't let it go out! Nesta screamed inwardly. Goddess, help me!

Chest heaving, she shut out everything else and focused all her attention on that tiny flame. With all her concentration, she imagined it growing larger.

Burn brightly, my heart-flame. Burn brightly.

Nothing happened.

The smoky vortex whirled around, pressing in on her. Alaric's voice stabbed her ears like knives.

'How can we trust you?'

Nesta tried again. White-knuckled, she gripped the throne's armrests. With every ounce of her strength, she willed the flame brighter.

Again nothing happened. Panic coursed through her. Sweat and tears mingled and ran down her face.

And then she heard it.

Her own voice, although it seemed to be coming from outside her.

You are sitting in the Burned One's hut. Your eyes are closed. You are breathing in the herb-scented air. The fire warms your skin. The wooden chair is firm beneath your thighs. You hear Theresa breathing softly beside you.

Nesta's grip on the armrests loosened. Her eyebrows separated. Her forehead smoothed. Her breathing slowed and the corners of her mouth lifted into a gentle smile. One by one all her muscles relaxed as the tension drained from her body.

Your heart-fire burns bright as the sun within your breast. White hot. All consuming.

The sputtering stopped. The tiny flame in Nesta's heart steadied.

Almost imperceptibly, the faint glow started to brighten. Little by little it grew bigger, increasing in strength, gaining momentum.

Soon her heart was ablaze. The heat was intense. Just as it had during her lessons with the Burned One, Nesta's heart-fire burned ferociously. A raging, roaring, searing fire.

Now I'm ready.

Nesta opened a door in her mind and stepped into the memory. The memory that had haunted her for the past three years. The day she never allowed herself to think about.

And there she was, waking from unconsciousness, head thumping. Blood dripping on her face, her nostrils filling with its smell. She pushed aside the floorboard and pulled herself out into the room where her loved ones lay dead.

There she stood. There in her old home, looking down at the spilled peas mingling in the pools of dark blood from her family's butchered corpses.

There she stood, gazing down at her beloved mother, her limp flour-covered arms, pasted with blood, her white apron, red-spattered, her soft liquid brown eyes, eyes that Nesta had loved since the day she was born, staring blankly into eternity, empty of life.

Nesta closed her eyes, reached into her heart and gathered her burning heart-fire. Opening her eyes again, she raised her hands in front of her and sent it out. Blazing white light flowed from her heart, coursing down her arms and streaming out through her palms. It poured out in torrents, lighting up the room, bathing her dear ones' bodies in its pristine glow.