Shards of a Broken Heart (Witchfire 4)

PROLOGUE

MIDNA

The door to the False Prophet's cell was a mockery of the term. Delicate fingers of mahogany propped up a stunning mural of stained glass, brittle and just too cloudy to see through, like toffee. A woman took up the centre of the frame, each of her features honed to a cutting edge; even the raven locks that tumbled down her back looked sharp enough to slit someone's throat. The upper half of her face was shrouded by a fox mask, save for a piercing pair of amber eyes, but it was the rainbow hue of her dress that made Midna Everclear's mouth go dry. Spun from a bolt of witchfire, the enchanted flames consumed the entire panel of glass, just as they would consume everything if unleashed upon the world.

Midna's nostrils flared at the audacity of the mural; at the apocalypse it so blatantly symbolised, the one she'd worked her entire life to prevent. But even more infuriating was the stupidity of her colleagues; not for misunderstanding the mural's significance, but for wilfully overlooking it. Their selective blindness spoke volumes of how corrupt their ranks had become.

Her hand closed over the door handle, lip curling at the paltry keyhole beneath it. Some prison, she thought, for the world's most dangerous criminal. It was that healthy dose of fear that made her reach for her power again, the slipstream of time that she was always struggling to keep her head above. There were thousands of currents trying to pull her this way and that, seconds, days, millennium into the future. It was deadly work, trying to dip her toes in without being carried away, but she'd learned how to swim the hard way.

An icy numbness spread through her body, lapping up her thighs, her waist. As it closed over her head, visions swam before her eyes, bleeding together as they dragged her inexorably downward. The timelines were always like this in the presence of another prophet, constantly in flux, as they shaped the future to their liking through small, deliberate acts in the present. It was exhausting work, trying to navigate centuries' worth of butterfly effects, spurred by even the smallest change of a prophet's mind. And if she herself changed her mind in order to prevent some element of that future... it would spin out and start again, resulting in a deadly whirlpool with no escape.

After a moment's hesitation, she found the vision she was looking for, just five seconds in the future. It was the perfect way to eavesdrop without supernatural senses.

The Council of Thirteen had convened inside the False Prophet's chambers, listening from the couches as he preached from behind a mahogany desk. Another symbol of power they were too arrogant to see, to nip in the bud.

"You have learned firsthand the danger of trusting only one Prophet," Henry said. "And you will learn it again if we do not act. Even now, that girl is conspiring against us —"

"Her name is Midna," spoke an old man, stooping under his years. Akira Shibata's extended vacation had not been as rejuvenating as he'd hoped. "And she is a girl no longer. You will afford her the respect of her station."

The False Prophet sighed. "I had hoped this golden tongue would convince you of the sincerity of my visions. You trust in Midna's crown, do you not? The blood of Velaroth was used to forge that relic, too."

Midna scowled, a hand coming up to pinch the spiny crown of white-gold atop her head. It constricted every time she dared to utter a lie, the points burrowing deeper and deeper into her skull. It was so tight now she couldn't even take it off; she'd learned quickly the folly of uttering even the smallest and whitest of lies, such as I'm good and I would love to! It was often easier to refrain from speaking at all, or to write her opinions down, for the spell was only activated by speech.

"It is true that you cannot lie," Akira replied, "but we are familiar with your tendency to bend the truth."

"Peace, brother," said the Eighth, a portly man in emerald robes. "We just received word that the Mad Witch is loose in the Incantum. As Midna failed to warn us of this threat, we must turn to other, more... reliable sources of information."