She was insane, Elymas decided, but sometimes the insane had great strength. Once out of the throne room, he could call the guards. He tried to rise, only to find that he couldn’t. 

         “Stop this at once!” he roared, or at least meant to, for even to his own ears, he sounded weak.

         She didn’t answer, merely watched as Elymas strained against the invisible bonds at his feet. When he stopped, he felt oddly at peace. At least he knew whom he was dealing with — a small time practitioner in the Black Arts, a village witch who’d somehow learned of his plans and wished for a place in his coming reign. Poor, deluded woman, she was showing off. He was both pleased and angered.

         It wasn’t hard to guess how she’d gained access to this part of the castle. Beauty opened doors. Nor was it difficult to guess who’d told her of his plans. Root, more than Strout, had a weakness for women, particularly a certain kind of woman. Elymas wondered if he’d found her at the whipping booths; he also wondered if she’d allow him a turn.

         For now, the knots.

         The first was simple — not a knot at all, more like slipping off a too-tight ring. His mind quickly accessed it. The second was looser yet proved more resistant. Easy to undo, but hard to prevent the ends from re-tying.  

         Coming to the third knot, he strained. He used words loaded with power. He concentrated his energies and threw out enough force to shatter rocks.

         No rocks shattered. Actually, the reverse happened. Shards of the broken bottle repaired themselves into a bottle whole, cork again in place.

         “Who are you?” he roared.

         The woman disregarded his question. “Excuse the constraints, but I’ve never been able to predict the actions of the frightened or foolish, and you appear to be both. You may shout, but no more piercing shrieks. My pets are sensitive to noise.”

         “I am not—” Cold fingers closed Elymas’s mouth abruptly.

         “If I remove the constraints, will you promise not to scream?  It’s grown tiresome.”

         The unseen fingers pressed against each side of his throat. With barely enough air to breath, the Earth Skyll made a guttural sound of assent. 

         She spoke words that spilled out almost visibly, and the final knot vanished. Elymas slumped forward like an empty wine bladder. 

         “You are beautiful.” Strange that this would be his first response, but it was the first thing that came to his head. “What is your name?” 

         “I am Rizla the Red Witch. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

         “Your name is not unknown.” Elymas couldn’t contain himself. He threw back his head and roared. What incredible audacity! The real Rizla was one of the most powerful players in the Dark’s world.

         She was good, very good, and he ached to break her.

         “What incredible gall!” he chuckled out the final compliment without meeting her eyes. Nor would he dwell on her nubile body — he’d no more time to waste. He needed to check the vats. The blood must bubble and roil. “Before I go, I must know the name of the third knot. The one that bound me.”