Page 14 of The Witch Queen

“You’re certainly popular,” I remark, nodding in the direction of the group.

He grunts. “Well, don’t sound so surprised about it.”

Surprisedis an understatement.

“Shouldn’t I be? Even you have to admit that you don’t seem to like people. Now I learn you have a sweetheart and a whole village of friends.”

“It’s not my village,” he replies. “Tilda told you—we have our own cottage farther out. Where it’s nice and quiet. Because Idon’tlike people.”

“Well, they certainly seem fond of you,” I comment, gesturing in the direction of the Dwarvian men, who are still watching our progress.

“Aye, well. Things changed once I started wearing this.” He taps the pin on his jacket. The tiny gems embedded in the crown sparkle.

“It’s more than that, I think. You’re not nearly this pleasant at court.”

The few times he’s deigned to visit.

“That’s because everyone at court is an idiot,” he says. I deal him a look. “Present company excluded. Mostly. It’s different among my own people. They know me.”

Therealhim.

I used to understand what that was like. A short distance away, a few Dwarvian children are splashing in a fountain, colored water spewing from the mouths of magical sea creatures. Their laughter reminds me of when Eden and I ran wild through Stonehaven. My chest aches at the memory. At the sight of the Dwarves tending their gardens or hanging their laundry, just as I used to do at Stonehaven. Despite everything, sometimes I miss the sisterhood of the coven. The warmth of the Great Hall and the sound of conversation and music after dinner. The nights Mother, Rhea, and I would spend curled together in her room, when she’d recount stories about her own time as a witchling.

You’re my heart,her words echo in the depths of my memory.

“So,” I say, forcing myself into the present, “are you going to explain why you called me here?”

“Didn’t you read my note?” he asks. “Something you need to see.”

“And that’s all I get?”

“Just…wait until we get to the Mine,” he says, lowering his voice. “Been trying to keep it quiet for now.”

“Quiet?” I repeat. “Is it—”

The patter of hurried feet interrupts me. A young female Dwarf careens in my direction. She spots me at the last second and stumbles as she attempts to veer out of my way.

“Careful!” I say, catching her before she falls.

“Rosemary!” Another Dwarf, who I assume to be the girl’s mother, rushes up to us. “I warned you not to run. My apologies, Your Majesty.”

“Not at all.” I let go of Rosemary. “Are you hurt?”

She just gawps at me. “Are youreallythe queen?”

I balk at the question. After I took the throne, I wondered whether the Dwarves would sense what I am. It certainly didn’t take Roland long to figure out my secret when I served Queen Sybil. But, as with the mortals, my shadows seem to be shielding me from the Dwarves’ scrutiny. Either that, or the Dwarves simply don’t care enough to discover the truth. Still, Rosemary’s words are too close to the message scrawled on the Sanctum:

The true queen.

“ ’Course she’s the queen,” Roland chimes in. “You see that crown, don’t you? What else would she be?”

What else indeed?that old voice hounds me.

“Please, don’t take offense, Majesty,” Rosemary’s mother supplies. “Such a mind on this one. Asks me a thousand questions a day.”

“That’s all right,” I say, bending so that I’m at Rosemary’s level. “I am the queen. And that means I can name you one of my official ambassadors. Here. You can even have this.”

I remove a ring from my finger and hand it to her. Rosemary snatches it up, examining the way the jewel glitters in the sunlight.