I'm baaack! Normally I don't post two chapters two days in a row, but hey,
I was inspired. I think that you'll probably be able to figure out who the
Black Widow is… but if you can't, you'll know by the next chapter.
Promise!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Black Jewels Trilogy. I never have owned the Black Jewels Trilogy. I never will own the Black Jewels Trilogy. If you ever try to suggest that I own the Black Jewels Trilogy, I will pick up my laptop and beat you with it.
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1 Chapter 1
In one of Draega's many back alleys, the Black Widow stared with mounting horror at the tangled web that she had just woven.
She wasn't an official member of Hayll's Hourglass coven. Quietly but firmly removed from the Hourglass – Dorothea's pets, she thought with some disgust – when she had refused to accept a Priestess as ruler of Hayll, she had slipped away from the court, from tainted Hayll, before Dorothea could have her broken or killed or worse.
And she wondered for the thousandth time why she had come back.
No, that wasn't true. It was normal for a Black Widow to have dreams and visions besides what she saw in her tangled webs, but these dreams… Mother Night, they terrified her. Dreams of the High Lord of Hell looking into a mirror, the High Lord weeping while a smiling Dorothea ripped out his heart, the High Lord kneeling in the middle of a study, the torn pages of books clenched in his fists. She had never seen the man face-to-face, but she knew him as surely as if they had been formally introduced. And the visions of herself. Visions of being broken, Jewels shattering like glass; of Dorothea ripping a child – her child – from her arms; of standing behind a beautiful man with the golden-brown skin of her native Dhemlan – a beautiful man, but cold as ice.
More.
Visions of that same man looking up at the High Lord through a pool of water. Visions of him crouched before Dorothea's court, body bowed with pain, Black Jewel blazing with fire. Visions of him standing in a bedchamber, murder in his eyes. And everywhere, the image of ice – covering the bedchamber walls, glazing the windows and mirrors, enshrouding his soul.
She had seen in that soul a delicate balance – on the one hand a pure, destructive force, on the other hand, a desire – no, a need – to destroy Dorothea and all that she had done to Hayll, and would eventually do to the Realms. Such a delicate balance, and even the slightest wrong word could permanently push him into becoming a brand of destruction that even Dorothea could only aspire to. But push him in the right direction, let his treatment at Dorothea's hands make him into the perfect weapon; a beautiful, deadly serpent clasped to her breast. It was a slim hope, and a cruel one – she shuddered at the thought of what Dorothea would do to him – but cruel or not, no price was too high to pay for the salvation of some part of what was pure and good among the Blood.
And it was too much to hope that her visions would not come to pass. She had been a Black Widow for too long to disregard her visions.
Now, with rumors of the High Lord's contract with Dorothea buzzing in the air, she knew what was going to happen. Dorothea might hope to secure a powerful, controllable pet… but she would get something very, very different. The only question that remained was what that difference would be.
No, it was no surprise that she had come back to Hayll.
A sudden noise ripped her from her thoughts. Footsteps running, and… the feel of Jeweled power. Shouts. Curses. It could only mean one thing. Taking one last, desperate look at the tangled web, and desperately clutching her Tiger-eye Jewel, she rose to face the intruders.
It wasn't pretty. It never was. After she had drained her Jewels, futilely attacking shields that were far more powerful than she was, the leader, who had hung back, flicked his Green-ringed hand with almost careless amusement, sending her reeling backward to smash against the alley wall. Walking up to her, he smiled. "So," he said. His voice was detached, but his eyes glittered with cruel amusement. "Here's the pretty little bitch who thought she could get away from the Priestess." He looked over his shoulder at his men. "What do you say, boys? Shall we teach her a little lesson?" Vicious grins were his only response.
Hands reached toward her, ripping off her clothes, tearing at her hair, pawing her body.
She fought and kicked and screamed, of course.
It didn't help.
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After an eternity of bruised and violated flesh, the last man got up, pulled on his pants, and signaled to his comrades, who were holding her down. When they let go, she pulled her legs together, crossing them at the ankles, but was otherwise too tired to get up. What did it matter? What did anything matter? Her Jewels were gone, broken. What once could have been a magnificent stained glass window was now only the shattered remnants of melted sand.
The leader walked over to her and made a mock-courteous bow. "Thank you, Lady, for a delightful time." Kneeling, he bent his head close to her ear and whispered, "This was a taste. Just a taste. Keep up your defiance of the Priestess, and you won't live to make the Offering." He stood. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. You'll never be able to make the Offering now, will you, little witch? Such a dreadful shame."
Laughing, he and his men walked out of the alley.
The Black Widow lay still for a moment, savoring the slow uncurling of still, icy rage, and stood, walking over to where her tangled web lay forgotten. Her lips stretched into a terrible, mirthless grin as she looked at what she had woven.
Dorothea would try to possess the man that the Black Widow had seen in her visions, would hurt him, enslave him, torture him. But in the end… ah, in the end, he would destroy her. The killing blow would not come from his hand, but he would open up the path through which Dorothea and all that she had wrought would be destroyed.
The leader of the men had been right, in a way. She would never make the Offering when she had been stripped of her Birthright Jewels. But what he didn't know was that he had given her a reason to live.
Dorothea had lived her entire life among the sterile environs of Hayll's Hundred Families. She had never truly known the rage of a Blood- Jeweled witch – even a broken witch.
The Black Widow lashed out her hand, ripping the spidersilk threads of her tangled web, not caring that insane laughter was rippling from her mouth. Let Dorothea have her games, her power. Within seventeen centuries, she would be destroyed.
Outside the alley, passerby stopped briefly to wonder at the mad laughter that was issuing from the dank passage, then shook their collective head and went on. It was none of their business.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Black Jewels Trilogy. I never have owned the Black Jewels Trilogy. I never will own the Black Jewels Trilogy. If you ever try to suggest that I own the Black Jewels Trilogy, I will pick up my laptop and beat you with it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1 Chapter 1
In one of Draega's many back alleys, the Black Widow stared with mounting horror at the tangled web that she had just woven.
She wasn't an official member of Hayll's Hourglass coven. Quietly but firmly removed from the Hourglass – Dorothea's pets, she thought with some disgust – when she had refused to accept a Priestess as ruler of Hayll, she had slipped away from the court, from tainted Hayll, before Dorothea could have her broken or killed or worse.
And she wondered for the thousandth time why she had come back.
No, that wasn't true. It was normal for a Black Widow to have dreams and visions besides what she saw in her tangled webs, but these dreams… Mother Night, they terrified her. Dreams of the High Lord of Hell looking into a mirror, the High Lord weeping while a smiling Dorothea ripped out his heart, the High Lord kneeling in the middle of a study, the torn pages of books clenched in his fists. She had never seen the man face-to-face, but she knew him as surely as if they had been formally introduced. And the visions of herself. Visions of being broken, Jewels shattering like glass; of Dorothea ripping a child – her child – from her arms; of standing behind a beautiful man with the golden-brown skin of her native Dhemlan – a beautiful man, but cold as ice.
More.
Visions of that same man looking up at the High Lord through a pool of water. Visions of him crouched before Dorothea's court, body bowed with pain, Black Jewel blazing with fire. Visions of him standing in a bedchamber, murder in his eyes. And everywhere, the image of ice – covering the bedchamber walls, glazing the windows and mirrors, enshrouding his soul.
She had seen in that soul a delicate balance – on the one hand a pure, destructive force, on the other hand, a desire – no, a need – to destroy Dorothea and all that she had done to Hayll, and would eventually do to the Realms. Such a delicate balance, and even the slightest wrong word could permanently push him into becoming a brand of destruction that even Dorothea could only aspire to. But push him in the right direction, let his treatment at Dorothea's hands make him into the perfect weapon; a beautiful, deadly serpent clasped to her breast. It was a slim hope, and a cruel one – she shuddered at the thought of what Dorothea would do to him – but cruel or not, no price was too high to pay for the salvation of some part of what was pure and good among the Blood.
And it was too much to hope that her visions would not come to pass. She had been a Black Widow for too long to disregard her visions.
Now, with rumors of the High Lord's contract with Dorothea buzzing in the air, she knew what was going to happen. Dorothea might hope to secure a powerful, controllable pet… but she would get something very, very different. The only question that remained was what that difference would be.
No, it was no surprise that she had come back to Hayll.
A sudden noise ripped her from her thoughts. Footsteps running, and… the feel of Jeweled power. Shouts. Curses. It could only mean one thing. Taking one last, desperate look at the tangled web, and desperately clutching her Tiger-eye Jewel, she rose to face the intruders.
It wasn't pretty. It never was. After she had drained her Jewels, futilely attacking shields that were far more powerful than she was, the leader, who had hung back, flicked his Green-ringed hand with almost careless amusement, sending her reeling backward to smash against the alley wall. Walking up to her, he smiled. "So," he said. His voice was detached, but his eyes glittered with cruel amusement. "Here's the pretty little bitch who thought she could get away from the Priestess." He looked over his shoulder at his men. "What do you say, boys? Shall we teach her a little lesson?" Vicious grins were his only response.
Hands reached toward her, ripping off her clothes, tearing at her hair, pawing her body.
She fought and kicked and screamed, of course.
It didn't help.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After an eternity of bruised and violated flesh, the last man got up, pulled on his pants, and signaled to his comrades, who were holding her down. When they let go, she pulled her legs together, crossing them at the ankles, but was otherwise too tired to get up. What did it matter? What did anything matter? Her Jewels were gone, broken. What once could have been a magnificent stained glass window was now only the shattered remnants of melted sand.
The leader walked over to her and made a mock-courteous bow. "Thank you, Lady, for a delightful time." Kneeling, he bent his head close to her ear and whispered, "This was a taste. Just a taste. Keep up your defiance of the Priestess, and you won't live to make the Offering." He stood. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. You'll never be able to make the Offering now, will you, little witch? Such a dreadful shame."
Laughing, he and his men walked out of the alley.
The Black Widow lay still for a moment, savoring the slow uncurling of still, icy rage, and stood, walking over to where her tangled web lay forgotten. Her lips stretched into a terrible, mirthless grin as she looked at what she had woven.
Dorothea would try to possess the man that the Black Widow had seen in her visions, would hurt him, enslave him, torture him. But in the end… ah, in the end, he would destroy her. The killing blow would not come from his hand, but he would open up the path through which Dorothea and all that she had wrought would be destroyed.
The leader of the men had been right, in a way. She would never make the Offering when she had been stripped of her Birthright Jewels. But what he didn't know was that he had given her a reason to live.
Dorothea had lived her entire life among the sterile environs of Hayll's Hundred Families. She had never truly known the rage of a Blood- Jeweled witch – even a broken witch.
The Black Widow lashed out her hand, ripping the spidersilk threads of her tangled web, not caring that insane laughter was rippling from her mouth. Let Dorothea have her games, her power. Within seventeen centuries, she would be destroyed.
Outside the alley, passerby stopped briefly to wonder at the mad laughter that was issuing from the dank passage, then shook their collective head and went on. It was none of their business.