Between the dirt, ash, sweat, and the fact that he’d been awake for over twenty-four hours, he only wanted to shower and sleep.
Unfortunately, with a single nod, Felicity dashed his hopes. “Representative Challard asked to speak with you, sir. She’s outside.”
Ryker’s stomach twisted in a knot. He wasn’t sure what the Representative wanted, but considering he had her to thank for Brynleigh’s limited freedom, he couldn’t ask her to reschedule.
Knowing it was never wise to keep a powerful witch waiting, Ryker thanked Felicity and went in search of Myrrah Challard.
Ryker foundthe witch Representative fifteen minutes later. It wasn’t that difficult. Not only had the blast destroyed the concert hall, but it had wrecked much of the massive park outside as well. Charred trees were bent in half, benches were in shambles, and the once-green grass was black.
The night was fading, darkness giving way to dawn. Pastels streaked along the sky, the perfect backdrop to the sky-blue ribbons swirling in the air several hundred feet away.
A witch was here. The magical ribbons were as good as a calling card. All magic that didn’t come from elemental fae was colored.
Green for Earth Elves, purple for Light Elves, red for Death Elves, silver for Fortune Elves, and blue for witches. Ryker had heard stories of golden, godly magic before, but it hadn’t been seen since the time of the High Ladies of Life and Death.
Ryker strode past several groups of soldiers and Representatives, following the magic until he saw Myrrah.
The witch was crouched over something Ryker couldn’t see,magic slipping from her palms. She looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of a history book from the Four Kingdoms. A long black robe flowed around her. Midnight hair swirled in an unseen wind, tendrils flying every which way. Bare feet stood on the ashy ground, toes digging into the soil. The wind carried her voice to Ryker’s ears, the incantations murmured in a language he did not recognize.
His magic thrummed in his veins, power calling to power.
Keeping his distance because only a fool would dare interrupt a witch while they were working, Ryker slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against a tree. He would wait for Representative Challard to notice him.
Soldiers milled around, gathering evidence, taking photos, and roping off the scene. They glanced in his direction, but no one approached him.
Several minutes passed before the blue ribbons disappeared into the early morning sky. Myrrah straightened, dusted off her hands, and turned.
Physically, the Representative looked around thirty years old, but she’d seen two centuries come and go. Myrrah’s face was smooth, save for a few wrinkles at the corners of her dark brown eyes. Her mouth curved up, and those eyes flickered with recognition.
“Hello, Captain.” She dipped her head in greeting. “You’re right on time.”
Ryker’s brows furrowed. “On time for what?”
Myrrah extended an arm, her sleeve flowing like an inky river. “Tell me, youngling, what do you see here?”
It grated on Ryker’s nerves when people answered questions with questions, but what was he supposed to do? A lifetime of dealing with his mother and her colleagues had taught him that one should not ignore Representatives and their questions.
Ryker stepped forward and eyed the item at Myrrah’s feet.
His lips slanted down. “It’s a rock.”
More specifically, it was a charred stone the sizeof a large melon. Flat on one side, it was edged in black as if it had been plucked out of a fire.
“Not just a rock,” she said cryptically. “Look more closely.”
Ryker did as she asked, leaning over and studying the stone. Several lines were gouged into the surface, but he didn’t recognize them.
He reached out, intent on touching the stone, when the witch hissed, “Careful, Captain.”
His hand froze mid-air, and he glanced up. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t touch it. Death has been woven into the fabric of this magic,” she said ominously. “You may look, but you must keep your hands to yourself.”
That warning would’ve been helpful before she asked him to take a closer look.
Gritting his teeth, Ryker drew back his hand and pulled a thread of water from his palm. The translucent ribbon swirled in the air, seeming out of place amid all the destruction. He twisted his fingers, directing the magic to curl around the stone.
The moment the liquid touched the rock, the shale glowed. The swirling lines rearranged themselves over the flat surface, forming an emblem he knew from his research. A dagger speared a crescent moon—the Black Night’s symbol.