Empress of the Gods

The prophecy written in the stars

Rhiannon

Years after the god’s war.

The heavenly era.

The only noises Rhiannon Silverclaw could hear around her were the croaks of the frogs sitting in the murky pond near the old shack that was barely relying on the rocks upon which it was built. She could swear it was going to fall apart at any moment with the slightest gust of wind. No smoke came out from the chimney’s crown and no light passed through the broken windows that seemed to suggest someone was inside. Not to mention, there was a hole in the ceiling and the entrance door hung from its frame.

It seemed as though no one lived there, but Rhiannon knew that to be false because she was well aware of who lived inside that old shack. Moreover, the smell of burnt herbs from the Eirian Forest confirmed she was in the right place.

Rhiannon took note of the animals that surrounded the shack, and with each step she took, she could distinguish the rotten scent of dark magic. No amount of effort could mask it, with witches being the only creatures that could detect it.

Although she doubted Sabine Shadowgrim would want to hide it from her.

She knew the seer witch who lived in the shack was already waiting for her, otherwise, it would present to outsiders as an estate house filled with commodities and everything their intended victim desired. It was no wonder that travelers who stumbled across the shack after a long journey thought the Gods had answered their prayers.

Only, travelers didn’t mention the price they paid for it after they asked the seer for a glimpse of their future. The stories that spread about her carried a warning between the lines, saying they only had to take what they needed to survive on the road, and to never ask the seer for their future or they would regret it later.

Rhiannon knew some of the travelers didn’t even get out alive from Sabine’s territory.

From all the places—and seers—who didn’t use dark magic as a source of power that they could be looking for answers they were in the last place they should be. Rhiannon and what was left of her coven were at the doorstep of another northern Witch’s territory.

She didn’t like the idea of being there any more than the others, but if she wanted to find the Dimneas dagger, known to the mortals as the dagger of destiny, then the only one who could at least guide her in the right direction would be another living witch that fought in the battle of the Calithea abyss.

Sabine and Rhiannon’s coven had been trained and educated in the same place. If she hadn’t been exiled after all the atrocities she committed to their people, then she would have been one of the best Generals the kingdom of Lhrastsha had ever had.

But as the stories went, she’d been underestimated so many times and had everything ripped away from her, leading her to what she had become. Not having anything to lose had made her extremely dangerous.

“Aeron,” Rhiannon called to her second-in-command, so he could assist her in case Sabine tried to be too smart. After all the years they’d known each other, she didn’t have to say another word to tell him what she wanted, barely even had to gesture. He couldn’t read her mind, although he was close to it. “Surround the shack and don’t let anything approach or leave this place,” she ordered to the seven members that were left of her coven. “Let’s get this over with,” she added in a small voice to Aeron, saying it more to herself than to him.

If it was up to her, the dagger could get lost in the middle of the ocean for all she cared, only it wasn’t up to her. And she had learned the hard way not to disobey the King’s orders. So, she followed his orders blindly.

Rhiannon might be his majesty’s favorite and the nearest to the throne due to her noble rank and family, but she couldn’t tempt her luck with him. Not to mention she had been raised as a warrior and turned into a weapon—educated on the ways to blend into a court and act as a spy—once the King had witnessed her potential. She was not afraid of him, but she did fear for her people.

Rhiannon was not afraid of Sabine or the dagger. In fact, she’d stopped being afraid after the King had sent them on a quest after quest. How could she be afraid when they’d become what everyone feared?

But she knew they needed to be careful about what they found, especially if they found the dagger. All the rumors the coven had heard about it described the misfortunes that came with using it. Even if she had lived long enough, she wasn’t immortal, nor was she a fool, and she didn’t want her people to suffer the consequences of a greedy King who only sought more power, his people be damned.

The wood creaked under her boots as soon as she crossed the threshold of the shack. It didn’t surprise her to find a dusty mess in front of her. There were a few cobwebs along the ceiling, a couple of dried herbs, a few long-extinguished candles, and ash on the chimney’s floor. It was a single room with one wooden table and a chair placed in the center. Rhiannon took the chair and pulled it back so she could sit on it. Those who knew her told her that she embodied the God of War’s daughter from the lethal way she could wield a sword—with the beauty and grace of a Queen.

“Show yourself,” she ordered in a firm tone as she crossed one leg on top of the other and arranged her golden braid over one shoulder. Aeron settled behind her seat with his arms folded and a straight face as if he was bored.

In that moment, an attractive man with blue eyes, deep golden skin, and short curly hair appeared. He was leaning back against the wooden wall next to the fireplace. He was dressed in a long coat, the color of red wine, with a golden ornament on the collar that reminded her of a noble man’s attire in the witches’ realm. “Please. Make yourselves at home,” said a honeyed voice, with the fire lighting up in the chimney next to him.

“Don’t mind if I do,” replied Rhiannon with a slightly closed-lipped smile on her face.

Rhiannon knew Sabine wouldn’t show her true face without playing first with her mind. Beyond the gift everyone had knowledge of, she’d never quite understood how the rest of Sabine’s gifts worked.

Sabine moved away from the wall and walked towards the table, sitting slowly on the chair that appeared opposite Rhiannon.

“Do you like this face?” Sabine asked, pointing to herself, “or do you prefer something more familiar?” She questioned her as she inclined her head, changing her appearance and becoming someone Rhiannon knew well and could recognize anywhere in the world. She would never forget those bright silver eyes that shone with the intensity of the moonlight, as the beautiful smile that appeared on the nymph in front of her, along with the long, chestnut hair that fell into waves on either side of her shoulders.

Rhiannon gave her a faint smile, as though she’d been told a joke that barely made her laugh, while trying to hide how little her presence affected her. “I prefer the face of the Witch that they have sent me to kill,” she replied, while she effortlessly played with a knife, nailing it to her hostess’s wooden table. Sabine didn’t so much as shiver, but her smile faded away while the one on Rhiannon’s face only deepened. She tried to be careful with each of her thoughts before she came to Sabine’s land, knowing she was entering the lion’s den, and that if she wasn’t careful enough with her responses, she would show her greatest fears and desires. Being a seer had its advantages, and she didn’t doubt Sabine would use them in her favor.

Sabine changed her appearance once more, this time showing her true face. She had deep red-waist-length hair and looked waif thin with a few additional wrinkles since the last time Rhiannon saw her, in spite of being the same age as her. Such a thing used to happen to the witches who used magic that spelled from darkness. A power so addictive that came with a higher price they both knew well. Rhiannon had gotten close to cross that line when she’d had to use dark magic, and the Witch in front of her was a reminder of what would happen if she tempted her luck again and surrendered to it. It was the kind of seductive power that allowed the holder to believe total destruction was possible with a single movement of the hand. So easy to obtain, but so difficult to escape from. It was not worth it. There were different ways to obtain power without having to kill for it. And Rhiannon knew it because she loved to yield power. So, she tried to avoid it where possible, but when it came to saving her people, she would do anything.

“Oh, how boring you’ve become,” Sabine complained with a pout on her face while she rested her back on the chair. A corner of Rhiannon’s smile turned up in response to Sabine’s remark. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely visit? Or did Aeron only come to improve my view?” she asked, eyeing Aeron as she slowly drummed her nails on the table.

In response, Rhiannon snapped her tongue in denial: “Sabine, Sabine, Sabine. Always wanting what you can’t have. Didn’t you pause to think he might not like to miss all the fun?”

“Careful Rhiannon, because I may not let him go,” Sabine warned, while she continued staring at Aeron. “Maybe your right hand will become mine after he sees all that I can offer to him.”

Aeron laughed. “There is nothing you can offer that interests me.”

Sabine stopped her drumming and turned her attention back to her. “It remains to be seen,” Sabine said. Her tone suggested she was starting to lose her patience.

“You didn’t come to kill me in spite of having what was left of your adorable coven watching around,” she said as she moved her index finger to create an invisible horizontal circle in the air to show what was happening outside her shack. “You didn’t come to take me back to Lhrastsha because I was exiled from that place and any other witch kingdom, if Khrysaor can be called like that, and I assume they prefer to see me dead rather than set foot on one of those places.” Sabine folded one leg on top of the other. “I don’t think you’ve come to see an old friend either, since you and I have never spoken to each other.” Then Sabine leaned forward as if she had figured something out. “Or maybe you have decided, after all, to sit on that throne, crowning yourself Queen of the Witches, and you wish to know who will dare to face you, so you can get rid of them before a plot is set against you,” she added with a smile, as if she knew exactly what occupied part of her thoughts.

She couldn’t deny she’d thought about it since the King of the Witches was the one who put that vision in Rhiannon’s head, telling her there was no one more suitable to follow in his footsteps than her, since he’d educated her in his way.

Sabine was playing with her, and she didn’t have time for it. “This is a waste of time,” Rhiannon calmly said as she rose from her chair and turned her back to her hostess.

“Maybe you came to ask about those girls with whom you will cross paths,” Sabine continued, as though they’d already discussed it, while she continued playing with the knife Rhiannon left on the table. She set the edge on the tip of one of her fingers as she turned the handle with her other hand. “One with the blood of the Goddess of creation,” she added as Rhiannon watched Sabine play with a drop of blood between her fingers. “And the other with the same blood that runs through our veins. One will be persecuted by her kind and envied by others who yearn for her power. Not to mention that the one who commands the forgotten daughters of the Goddess of creation will come for her.”

Rhiannon didn’t dare to move or say anything at all.

“A driadae without a throne destined to fall into darkness. No living soul will be able to prevent her from joining his cause, as it is already written in the stars that it will happen.” Sabine’s amber-colored eyes bore into hers as she let her gaze linger. “Will there be another queen without a throne who follows your footsteps?” Sabine asked before licking the blood off her fingertip. “But darkness, my friend—something is waking up under the mountain, and I think you have a pretty good idea of what it is.”

Sabine’s last words made her freeze.

Rhiannon had seen the power of darkness and she was unwilling to go through another battle. But she also knew Sabine liked to twist the truth of the prophecies she spoke. So, she would take her word with a grain of salt.

“I’ll say this only once. I won’t interfere with your business if you don’t interfere with mine.” Rhiannon clearly stated the implicit agreement they already had, because when they were in the ranks, she didn’t mess with Sabine, and Sabine didn’t mess with her. They knew how lethal the other be.

“I know what you did,” Sabine replied, roughly tossing the knife on the table.

Aeron prepared to strike, but Rhiannon slightly rose her hand at her side to stop him. She knew Sabine wouldn’t dare attack first, so she slowly turned around to see her. Those five words affected her more than anything Sabine had told her, since they were the real reason why she didn’t sit on the stone throne.

“The time will come when you face the consequences of everything you and your coven have done, and no one will help you or mourn you. You will be forgotten by the same people who celebrated you in each victory. And you will know what it’s like to have everything ripped away from you,” Sabine added in a flat voice as her eyes darkened, her gaze seemingly lost somewhere in her visions. She didn’t need to hear anything else, so Rhiannon turned her back on Sabine and left the shack.

She’d gone to the shack for answers about the dagger, and all she’d obtained were answers to questions she hadn’t even asked. She didn’t know how the prophecy or the Dimneas dagger related to Sabine’s last words, but she knew they would stick in her head for a while.

Sabine didn’t appear to realize Rhiannon had already lost too much. Maybe not in the way Sabine did, but she didn’t think she could lose more. The orders of the King had broken something in each one of the Witches in her coven, starting with her. They looked like lost souls that just wandered around, waiting for the day they’d have to pay for all their sins. They were not the heroes their people thought they were, even if they were the best warriors in the Witches’ realms. That came at a high cost that none dared to speak out loud.

Rhiannon and Aeron got on their horses without saying a word. A move the coven instantly imitated from their leader and her second-in-command.

“Not a word of this to anyone,” she ordered to her coven with a serious tone before leaving the territory of the seer.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, she will rise, or if she desires, she will release the storm of fire.

Part I

Hollow heart.