The Witch Queen by Jan Siegel Page A

sounds to me more foolish than magical. Perhaps, if she is besotted with these fancies, she may not be dangerous after all. When I wanted to play at motherhood, I would steal a babe from a rabbit’s burrow, or a woodman’s cradle, not pluck a bunch of dead twigs. Of course,” she added with an eye on Fern, “that was long ago. I have outgrown such folly. Besides, human babies scream all the time. It becomes tiresome.”
    “So I’m told,” said Fern. “I need to think about all this. Your highness, may I have some means of calling on you and your servants again, should it be necessary? This witch may indeed be mad or foolish, but I fear otherwise. I must make a spell of farsight, and then I may know what further questions to ask your subject.”
    “I will have the royal burglar pass by here othernights,” Mabb decreed magnanimously. “If you wish to speak with him, pin a mistletoe sprig to your door.”
    “It’s out of season,” Fern pointed out.
    “Well.” Mabb shrugged. “Any leaves will do.” She waited a minute, beginning to tap her foot. “You mentioned gifts . . .”
    Fern went into her bedroom for a hasty trawl through her makeup drawer and jewel box.

    “Can
you make a spell of farsight?” Gaynor asked when they were alone.
    “I could light the spellfire,” Fern said, “if I had any crystals. That might tell me something. Do you want a G and T?”
    “Actually,” said Gaynor, “just tea would be good. I’ll make it.”
    “No, it’s all right.” Fern headed for the kitchen.
    “Are you—are you going to tell Will about this?”
    “Probably.” There was a pause filled with the noise of gurgling water, and the click of a switch on the kettle. “Why?”
    Gaynor stiffened her sinews, screwing her courage, such as it was, to the sticking point. “I just think you should. Because he’s your brother. Because three heads are better than two. Because we’re a team.”
    “Are we?”
    “You said so.”
    “I think that was your idea.” Fern came to the kitchen doorway, propping herself against the frame. “Last time you both nearly got killed. That’s not going to happen again. I can protect myself, but I can’t always protect you, so you
must
—you must
promise
—do exactly what I say, and stay out of trouble. I don’t like the sound of this witch. I didn’t fully understand what Skuldunder meant when he said she opened the abyss, but I do now. You must promise me—”
    “No,” said Gaynor baldly. “I mean, I could say it, but it wouldn’t be true, and anyway, you haven’t the
right
. I may not be Gifted like you, but that doesn’t mean you can control me or exclude me. Or Will. I got involved last time because you were in denial, and now I’m involved for good. You can’t change that.” She spoke in a hurry, determined to get the words out before Fern could interrupt or she lost her nerve.
    After a minute the set look that was becoming habitual to Fern relaxed. “Sorry,” she said unexpectedly. “I’ve been a control freak from childhood. Years of managing Dad. Just . . . be careful this time. No rushing off into the dragon’s den. Please.”
    “No fear,” said Gaynor with an uncertain smile.
    Fern returned to the kettle, reemerging presently with two mugs of tea, both overfull. As she set them down the contents of the left one splashed over the rim. “Damn,” she said. “Not again.” She sucked at the injury, then lowered her hand, extending it until it was directly under the lamplight. “Gaynor . . .” The scald mark faded even as she watched, leaving her skin unblemished. There was no other burn to be seen.
    “What did you do?” Gaynor demanded. “Is it more magic?”
    “Maybe,” said Fern, “but not mine.” There was a long moment while recollection and doubt turned over in her mind. “This happened before . . . when I set fire to Morgus. My hand was burned. Kal made me dip it in the river . . .”
    “The river healed you, didn’t it?” Gaynor