Kristine stared at Erik. “How can she be alive?”
He shook his head. It didn’t matter how. It was enough to know Charmion still lived, that Kristine and his child were still in danger, and he was helpless to protect them.
“Erik . . .”
“Leave me.”
“No.”
“Please, Kristine.”
“Come, child,” the wizard said, “I believe he needs to be alone.”
“I just want to help.”
“I know,” Caddaric said, his voice laced with sympathy. “I know.” Draping his arm around Kristine’s shoulders, he led her from the room.
Left alone, Erik collapsed on the floor, surrendering to the pain that lanced through him with his every breath, every heartbeat. They had come here seeking help. He knew now that no help would be forthcoming.
It will be less painful if you stop fighting. Valaree’s words rose in the back of his mind. Was that the answer, to simply give in? If he stopped fighting the transformation, would it take place more quickly? It would be so easy to give in, to stop fighting and accept the inevitable. So easy . . .
Closing his eyes, he sank into the velvet blackness that waited for him.
“What are we to do now?” Kristine asked. They were sitting in the wizard’s chambers. It was a large, square room, the walls lined with bookshelves crowded with books, scrolls, and manuscripts. Plush gray carpets covered the floor. Several flowering plants added splashes of color. The white raven regarded them from a perch in the corner.
Kristine stared into the cup of green tea the wizard had conjured for her. “It’s useless to fight her, isn’t it?”
“Fighting evil is never useless,” Caddaric replied.
“But you can’t help Erik, can you?”
The wizard blew out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid not, my child. But I might be able to help you.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “I cannot reverse the curse Charmion has put upon Erik, but she has no power over me. She cannot enter my keep, nor can she harm those in my protection.”
“She hurt Erik.”
“Only because she had power over him already.”
“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”
“For Erik? I am afraid so. You are welcome to stay here, within the protection of these walls, until your child is delivered.”
“I had hoped my daughter would be born at Hawksbridge.”
The wizard sighed. “If you wish, I shall see you safely back to Hawksbridge. I can seal the castle against her evil. You and all who dwell there will be safe from Charmion’s power so long as you do not admit her to the castle.”
Kristine nodded. There was no hope for Erik. She must think now of their child. His child. “Thank you.”
“I am sorry, Lady Trevayne. I wish I could do more.”
“Kristine. Call me Kristine.”
“And you must call me Caddaric.”
She smiled faintly. “For a moment, I thought the spell had been broken. For just a moment, he looked as I had always imagined him to be, as he must have been before Charmion’s evil curse.”
“You have never seen him as he was?”
“No. I wish . . .” She fought back a wave of hopelessness, blinked back the tears that were ever close to the surface. “You and Charmion, you’re so different, it’s little wonder you did not get on well together.”
Caddaric nodded. “Her magic has always been as dark as the place she calls home. Did you know we are the only two witches left in the land? I was the light to balance her darkness.”
“Has she always been so . . . so evil?”
“Sadly, yes, though I thought there was hope for her when first we met. She could have done so much good, yet she preferred the dark arts. I fear they will yet be her downfall.”
Kristine thought about Charmion’s castle, shrouded in mist and darkness, so different from Caddaric’s home. It was hard for Kristine to comprehend evil, harder still to understand why a witch as powerful as Charmion—a witch who could, with a word, surround herself with beauty—chose to live in the darkness of Cimmerian Crag.
She closed her eyes, suddenly weary.
“You should rest,” Caddaric suggested.
“Yes, I think I will. Thank you for everything.”
Rising, Kristine made her way to her chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth, the drapes were shut against the sun. With a sigh, she sat down in the chair beside the hearth and removed her shoes. When she stood up, she saw that the bed had been turned down, the pillows plumped.
Magic, she thought. She’d had enough of magic, both black and white.
Erik woke with a cry, the images of his nightmare all too vivid. He had been fully a beast in his dream, and yet he had been capable of human thought. He had seen himself running with Valaree, killing a deer, fighting over the fresh meat, and all the while what little humanity he still possessed had been appalled by his actions. He had run through the night, had howled his anguish at an uncaring moon. And then he had seen himself lying at Kristine’s feet, his tongue licking her palm, his tail wagging as she stroked his head. . ..