Page 184 of The Witch Queen

Even with Roland’s tunnels, it had taken us nearly a day to reach the Sanctum. Shadows churn above its broken, craggy walls. Murders of crows wheel above the dilapidated turrets, their ominous calls prickling my skin.

“Ayleth,” Jacquetta asks, “are you certain about this?”

Absolutely not.

“It’s the only way,” I say, as much to myself as to the others. “I’ll go in the front. That’s what Mother will expect. As for the rest of you, there’s an entrance in the kitchens. It leads to the back staircase. Jacquetta, you remember?”

She nods. “Of course I do. But—”

“Mother told me to comealone,” I repeat. We’ve had the same version of this argument about a hundred times since we began the journey here. “You remember what happened at the cottage. I won’t put the rest of you in danger. Besides, I have Nox.”

The Nevenwolf gives a short growl, his crimson eye gleaming in the night.

Jacquetta sighs. She and Joan exchange a wary glance, likely wanting to protest further, but they must realize that it won’t do any good.

“Here,” Joan says instead, pressing a small vial into my hand. “In case you find her first. Just a few drops of this.”

The antidote is a rich purple color, like a tiny beating heart in the palm of my hand.

“Thank you for this,” I tell her. “And for everything.”

“No farewells,” Joan says firmly. “We’re making it out of this—all of us.”

She might be the only one convinced of that.

“Right, then.” Roland clears his throat. “If we’re going to do that, then we better get a move on before that mother of yours figures out we’re here. Lovely family, you lot.”

Nox snorts, as if to agree. Joan squeezes my hands one last time, then joins Roland.

“Keep them safe, will you?” I ask Jacquetta, indicating the others. “If I don’t…”

“Stop,” Jacquetta says. “Nofarewells. You’re coming back. Blodwyn, too.”

I don’t bother to argue with her. Instead, I lean in and press my lips to Jacquetta’s, kissing her with everything I have. Like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do—because it might be.

Jacquetta pulls back first. “Until later.”

“Later,” I agree, praying that it’s true.

She peels away and I watch her go with the others, waiting until the last trace of them disappears into the night. Then I face the Sanctum. Its dark windows look down on me, like so many eyes watching. And I get the strangest sensation…that it recognizes me. That it’s been waiting for me. But I cannot tell if it’s welcoming me or warning me away.

—

Cold crackles over my skin, like breaking through a ward, as I enter Stonehaven’s grounds.

Memories flash through my mind as I pass the places where I usedto play with the other witchlings—annoying the chickens or helping with the few horses we kept in the stables. The remnants of the front garden, where I would spend hours tending the herbs and vegetables, always complaining about the heat. The side exit Rhea, and sometimes Jacquetta, and I would use to escape into the forest. Above my head, crows wheel around the bones of the South Tower and I can almost see the ghost of my former self staring out at me.

Inside the Sanctum isn’t much better. The halls are cold and tomb-like as I step through the front doors, Nox padding along beside me. The shadows, which usually flock to my presence, creep up the walls like climbing vines, avoiding me. The distant snap and pop of flame reaches my ears and I follow the sounds until I reach the cloister. Just like on the night of my Ascension, the coven fire is lit, blazing bright gold and scarlet against the darkness. But I don’t see Mother. Instead—

“Blodwyn.”

Nox follows as I leap over the low wall of the cloister and rush to the princess. She’s laid out in front of the fire as if for burial. Dread hums inside me. The dark purplish color of her veins has spread, webbing outward to cover the backs of her hands and all the way up into her hairline. I press my hand to her chest, but I can’t tell if it’s moving with her breath. Can’t tell if I can detect her pulse beneath the frantic rhythm of my own.

“Hold on,” I whisper, digging the vial of antidote out of my pocket.

“Ayleth.”

My own name stops me cold. Nox snarls a warning. Mother stands at the entrance to the cloister, pallid moonlight glazing the broken stones of the Bloodstone crown. Even now, that old yearning aches within me.