The Brush of Black Wings by Grace Draven Page B

here. I’ve leashed your king for a moment, but it won’t
last.”
    She winced and caressed his arm with her
fingertips. Her hair was a tangled mess, and fatigue painted
lavender shadows under her eyes. She’d obviously dressed under
enchantment and without benefit of a light. Her skirts were inside
out, and she had donned one of his shirts instead of hers. It fell
almost to her knees, and the sleeves were rolled to her elbows. No
woman ever born was more beautiful.
    So focused on tracking his wife through
incantation and so relieved at finding her, he barely registered
the structure at his back, incongruous as it squatted on the
featureless landscape beneath the ever-changing sky. The cottage
door hung open, and he tensed at the sight of a hazy shape hovering
just inside the doorway. It stepped onto the threshold, revealing a
wide-eyed woman of regal bearing, garbed in fine
clothing.
    “ Who the hell are you?” he
practically snarled at her and smirked when she jumped and
retreated into the cottage.
    “ Peace, Acseh. He’s a friend,”
Martise called to her in Glimming. Silhara scowled at her.
“ My friend,” she corrected. “There’s no need to
hide.”
    He refused to second that notion. Nothing and
no one here was safe from him except the wife he’d cracked open a
demon’s cage to retrieve. He watched, narrow-eyed, as the woman
Martise called Acseh ventured out of the cottage, keeping a wide
distance between herself and him as she came to stand to one side
of Martise.
    “ Why is there a house in the
middle of a demon’s world?” he asked in the language he and Martise
shared in their world.
    She answered him in the same tongue with a
faint smile. “That’s a story in itself and one we don’t have time
for now. Acseh is human, a prisoner here. From Megiddo’s age I
think.” Her voice softened so only he could hear. “He calls her
Damkiana. It’s Makkadian for ‘mistress of earth and heaven.’ It’s
the name of a Makkadian goddess, sacred to witches.”
    Silhara’s eyebrows rose as he stared at Acseh
who stared back for a moment before her gaze slid away from his.
“Is that so?” Martise’s nod and intent expression revealed her
thoughts matched his. Demons using affectionate terms—this place
grew stranger every second.
    Martise continued. “She doesn’t know the
meaning of the name. The king won’t tell her, and neither have I as
of yet.”
    Silhara scrutinized Acseh before crooking a
finger at her. “Come closer.” He rolled his eyes when she shook her
head and took two steps back. “Fine,” he said. “I can do this as
easily with you standing there.”
    Both women gasped when he hurled a
walnut-sized ball of red light at Acseh. She tried to leap away but
was held fast by Silhara’s sorcery. The small light swelled to
enclose her in a crimson cocoon that pulsed and hummed.
    Acseh’s eyes were the size of saucers, and she
swatted at the light, arms flailing as she sought to brush it off
her skirts.
    He half expected a protest from Martise, but
she stood quietly next to him. Sympathy clouded her expression, but
she said nothing, allowing the spell that sought out demonic
possession do its work.
    The light faded and disappeared, leaving Acseh
shaking and teary-eyed. Martise didn’t approach her, but she
offered an apology in Glimming. “I’m sorry, Acseh,” she said. “I
want to believe you are as much an unlucky human as I am, but I
don’t know you. That spell verifies you’re no demon or host to
one.”
    “ It doesn’t mean you can trust
her,” Silhara said. He wasn’t in the least apologetic for using the
spell on an unwilling target.
    Martise sighed. “I know.” She glanced down,
and it was her turn to startle. “The books were right. You found
the sword.” She stretched out a hand, not quite touching the
scabbard where it rested at Silhara hip, partially hidden by his
cloak. “It feels...”
    “ Foul,” he finished for her. He’d
grown more used to the