Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Love and peace,” I say softly. “The spells for those things can be found in this book?”
“Yes, my queen. And balance. We know so much of hate and violence, but they only exist because of the balance we protect.”
Spells for peace and love. I know there is no new weight on my shoulders, but I feel it regardless. These spells would take much more power than lighting a fire for a few seconds. They would take more power than I have ever dreamed of having, or trying to use. For they reflect onto others. To their minds and actions. Like sirens in the ocean and the fairies in the woods. Although the creatures I speak of are mysterious and dangerous.
Silvie exhales as if she needs to speak the words more than she needs to breathe. “I do not think it will be Hades who saves us,” she says.
It takes me a few seconds to absorb her words and lift my eyes from the book to hers. She looks at me steadily.
“Save us?”
“From the fallout of what he’s done to be with you,” she answers.
“You think it will be my mother? My father?” I question her, not knowing if either will ever find me here.
The corner of Silvie’s mouth turns up slightly. “I think it will be you.”
A chill runs through me as Silvie inclines her head and leaves. Her steps are the only thing I can hear as I watch her go. I close the cover of the book and lay it on the table.
It takes a few moments before I can think clearly. Surely I am not meant to save anyone in this state. I swallow thickly, removing the thought entirely from my mind. If I am to be Queen of the Underworld, and Hades believes it as truth, then there is something I will do.
With the thought echoing in my mind and the chill having an unrelenting grip on me, I return to the grate and concentrate my power into it. The power of the Queen of the Underworld.
The flames spring to life without hesitation. My eyes widen, almost in disbelief, but I refute the notion, and instead I tell the flames what I want of them.
I sit before them and watch as they dance, letting my gaze settle on them, considering the power there. I wish to play with it, to grow it, to feel the warmth and desire Hades gives me. The power I took from him. I know I did such things even if it was not my intention. For I am more powerful today than I was before.
What appears in the flames comes slowly. At first, I think it is just shadows, but I keep my eyes soft, and the image clarifies.
In the flames, I see my mother, crying. Dread slips into my blood and my lips part with a pain of seeing her cry.
Tears stream down my face slowly, but it stopped mattering to me long ago. What difference does it make if someone sees me? None. If I must cry, I will allow it. And in this moment, the absence of my mother but knowing her pain is too much for my soul to bear. I wish she could see me light the fire. I wish she could know the power I feel in this place.
Tears flow from me as I watch her scream and thrash against my father who wishes to calm her. His sorrow is evident and I cannot stop my emotion but I am grateful for it and I do not care if anyone sees it. The flames are swept away by the wind and my mother is gone. But it doesn’t take long for the fire to play before me another scene.
In the vision, there is a knock at the door, and it opens to reveal Zeus, a servant hovering by his side. He steps across the threshold with the servant and takes in my quarters in Olympus, which is spacious, with graceful wood floors and plaster walls. These may seem like mortal touches to others, but they are mine. Beatrice’s love for them grew on me years ago.
My father gazes to the plants that once grew here. I see them the way he must.
All the flowers have died. The fruit has withered and spoiled. None of it grows anymore. None of it bears life.
Zeus looks back at me, I swear he sees me. I can feel his eyes on me. And I can see in his eyes that he thinks I have met the same fate. A coldness of death flows through me as the back of my eyes prick with tears.
But no—I am still present.
I watch him blankly, feeling nothing except grief, raw in my chest. It occurs to me that I should stand to greet him.