The Opal Witch: Prophecy (Book Two)

Chapter Twelve

Lux

Lux stared up at her ceiling, her shoulders pressed into the mattress and her lips curled in contemplation. For the third morning in a row a dream had jolted her awake. And like before, it left her dazed and confused, taking what felt like hours to separate the tendrils of dream from reality.

She closed her eyes and tried to recreate the scenes that had played in her mind with such vividness. This magic was new to her, though not unexpected. Her clairvoyant gifts and family lineage made it almost guaranteed that she would inherit some amount of dream magic. It would be a natural progression of her growing in knowledge and strength, but Declan had warned her before he left. To be wary of any sudden changes. Especially dreams. Many a dreamer had been snared in the nets of skilled weavers, thinking the visions they saw were manifestations of their gifts when in truth, they were another's creation entirely.

Clearing her thoughts, she pieced together what she could. Dark, stone walls with flickering torches. Damp spots on rough floors, and footsteps that echoed into the blackness hovering beyond the torchlight.

"Come sister, do not despair. No man is worth our tears."

Slender arms went around her, surprising in their strength and warmth. She settled into the touch while she tried to calm herself. Her sister was right. Despair was not for the likes of one like her. A queen in her own right.

"There. That's better. Now, tell me what brings you here? I thought we agreed long ago that you would not seek me out. Wouldn't want the world to know that I share your blood."

She winced. Those words had been hard to speak, but they were necessary at the time. If Lot had discovered... She shook her head. He was long dead, and it didn't matter.

"I need you to teach me magic."

Her sister threw her head back and laughed. When she stopped laughing, she drew her long, heavy braid over her shoulder. She couldn't help but study the rich auburn color that was so like her own. It was the single trait they shared from their father.

"Sister, magic must be possessed before it can be taught."

"How do you know I do not possess magic? Father was a sorcerer. Only one line removed from his family's angelic dam-"

Her words were cut off. "Angel magic does not pass that way. Sorcerers pass on power to the son. We daughters get nothing."

"But you have magic."

"You know what I am."

"Then how does Merlin have power?"

The name cracked through the air and made the other woman flinch as though she'd felt it physically. "What does Merlin have to do with any of this?"

"I asked him to teach me magic, and he refused."

"You do not wish to learn his magic. He is half demon and not to be trusted."

The words were delivered in a strange tone she couldn't quite grasp. Loathing laced each syllable, but it was the breaths between that gave her pause. That and the fire in her sister's eyes spoke of lust.

"What need has a queen of magic anyways?"

"Revenge."

Another laugh but this one was not mocking. It was delighted. "Against?"