Mergenthaal studied the woman from his obsidian throne. Standing there, old and decrepit, he wondered why she preferred this particular form. She was hideous as he was beautiful.

Large, bulbous warts covered her wrinkled face and scrawny neck. The hand that held the crystal staff was as gnarled as a dead acarna branch. Her equally desiccated body was thin and bent by time. If not for her gray eyes, bright with the cunning and awareness of a much younger, sharper mind, he would have fallen for her façade.

He hid his irritation of the woman well. It was another of the many gifts he possessed, as was her ability to open Portals without a palpable trace in the currents. In that lay her true power. If not for his acute sense of the flows, she would have caught him by surprise.

Aptly known in the mortal world as the Mistress of Veiled Shadows, her very name inspired fear, for even among the Raisch her cruelty and ruthlessness knew no bounds.

"Five hundred years this time." Mergenthaal smiled thinly. "You are welcome as always, Da'artemis."

"Go flatter yourself, Mergenthaal." The woman's voice was full and throaty, musical and seductive all at once, a perfect parody to her appearance. "You know full well we are not welcome in your realm, recluse that you are, so spare me the niceties."

Mergenthaal strode from the throne, stepping down from the dais to where the woman stood. He gracefully held out his arm, onyx eyes glittering. "No, indeed I am pleased to see you again. Let me offer you a drink. Blood wine, perhaps?"

Da'artemis took his proffered arm and nodded absently, unprepared for this sudden show of hospitality. Mergenthaal gestured, and the nearest obsidian wall shimmered, revealing an alcove with black crystal decanters. He poured the Blood wine into a glass and offered it to her. She took a sip, savoring its delicate taste.

"I thank you for this unusual gesture, my brother, but I have not come to see you for a social visit—" Suddenly she grimaced in pain and dropped her glass, shattering into a thousand pieces as it struck the floor. She raised her staff as if to strike him, then stopped at the sight of her young, supple limb.

"What have you done?" She shrieked.

Mergenthaal only smiled. "An eye for an eye. I am tired of your surprises, sister." He gazed appreciatively at her.

Luminous, night-black hair cascaded in ripples down to her slender waist, framing a heart-shaped face that was as smooth and as clear as alabaster. Her large, gray eyes, fringed by thick dark lashes, stabbed at him, her cheeks suffused with indignation. She was the most exquisite, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"What abomination is this?" Da'artemis asked again, now more angry with herself for being taken off guard.

"Fear not," said Mergenthaal. "It is reversible after a brief period of time. It appears to have some temporary, deleterious effect on our control. You should have seen what it did to me, but that is another matter."

"The Blood—"

"A single drop of his blood, Da'artemis. Rhyshannon's blood."

Her emotions now carefully masked, the woman paced, brisk and catlike. "Your experiments will be the death of you yet, Mergenthaal." Abruptly she stopped in her steps, testing the currents. "He has crossed the Portal."

"Too late to get your hands on him, isn't it, my sister?"

"I suppose you would not just tell me where he is, but I do have my resources." The female Raisch's lips curled in a cruel smile, her eyes alight with a feral hunger. "Laareth has commanded me to watch over the Child of Night. To teach him—as I have taught you."

Mergenthaal laughed, but the laughter did not touch his eyes. "And look what I have become, beyond your reach, as he soon will be. He will be your destruction, Da'artemis."

The woman pointedly ignored him, and instead, walked toward the mural on the opposite wall of the throne room. So ancient that the edges were fading, and yet the image in the center seemed to leap defiantly into life: the image of a black, seven-headed Dragon, scales glittering in the dim light, its claws clutching a sapphire star.

"He stood here, for hours, didn't he? I can still feel his scent, his rage." She turned to him, as regal as the queen she used to be. "You prophesy for all of us, my brother. I will deliver him, broken, to Laareth, and then you will know the pointlessness of your visions."

Da'artemis shimmered, reverting to her hag form. He watched as she faded entirely from his sight, leaving a palpable trace of decay in the air.

Mergenthaal gazed at the Dragon, and the seven pairs of eyes gazed back at him. "The seed has been planted, my Liege." He whispered at it. "The cycle has begun."