Wicked Enchantment by Anya Bast Read Free Book Online

she’d be exiled and her mother would be disgraced. So she’d grown up squelching and denying it, even though there had been a part of her that had been intensely fascinated by her ability.
    A dangerous part of her still was.
    Aislinn would love the chance to find a teacher, one who could help her wield her ability more effectively, increase her talent. The fact that she wanted to develop her necromancy instead of suppress it was a secret she couldn’t reveal—not even to Bella, whom she’d told about her dark magick. Anyway, even if there were any other necromancers, they all dwelt on the dark side of the square.
    She watched the Wild Hunt lift off from the top of the Black Tower. As one of the highest-ranking Seelie nobles, she enjoyed a beautiful, lavishly furnished apartment with a wonderful view. If she was up late, she often caught a glimpse of the Wild Hunt taking off to do its work for the night—gather the souls of those fae who had passed on during the twenty-four hours since their last ride.
    Those fae who died outside Piefferburg’s walls—and there were still some out there, those who’d managed to evade the Great Sweep by the Phaendir in the mid-1600s—were never collected. They wandered aimlessly for an eternity, growing angrier with their fate and dangerous to humans. Aislinn knew that because she could feel them pulling at her from beyond the warding that guarded Piefferburg’s borders. They called to her through the strong magick the Phaendir had imprisoned them in. Their cries were muffled but audible.
    Humans thought the fae were immortal, but that wasn’t quite right. The Seelie and Unseelie royals were immortal because of the magick bestowed on them by the court artifacts. The Unseelie Royal wore an amulet and the Seelie Royal wore a ring, each piece of jewelry bestowing on them eternal life—freedom from disease or age. They could still be killed, however. They weren’t granted immunity from mortal wounds.
    The fae, most breeds, were immortal by human standards but not by exact definition. They were simply very long-lived, the aging process slowing to a crawl once a fae hit twenty-five. But the fae races still fell prey to accidents, illness, and, eventually, age, just like any human. Watt syndrome had taken an especially large toll and still stole away a fae here and there within the limits of Piefferburg. The only fae races that were not long-lived were the goblins and their lesser nightmarish offshoot species, the hobgoblins. Their life span ranged only to around a hundred years.
    She watched the Wild Hunt sail off into the darkness on phantom horses and with hounds at their side to sniff out the needy spirits. Did the Lord of the Wild Hunt hear the lost ones beyond the warding of Piefferburg, too? Could he feel all those departed fae yanking his psychic chain and demanding help he could never give like she did?
    In an odd way, she felt more kinship with the mysterious Lord of the Wild Hunt than with anyone at Seelie Court . . . at least since Bella had gone.
    No one knew who the Lord of the Wild Hunt was. His identity, and that of his host, was closely guarded. Too bad, since she’d like to meet him sometime, no matter that he resided in the Black.
    But then she would meet him, wouldn’t she? And soon. Her dream had told her that much. She’d meet him when he came for her soul. Her dreams always foretold someone’s death.
    This time it had been hers.
    She closed her eyes against the swelling memory of the dream, the glass of water slipping from her fingers and crashing to the thick fawn carpeting at her feet.
    Hands. So many hands, grasping, yanking.
    They’d pulled at her, caught in her hair, her clothes, bruising her limbs. Below and behind her a murky darkness had spread. Before her and in front of her had been lighter, like she’d been submerged in water and was looking toward the surface of the lake. The owners of the grabbing hands had been moaning and purring in her ear to