Page 128 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Tired,” I admitted. “Are you certain that we can’t rest for more than a few hours tonight?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I’m afraid not. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something on our trail.”

“More wightgasts, you mean?”

“Could be.”

I shuddered, pulling my knees up to my chest. “And you?”

“I’m alright. I’ve been thinking a lot about Ophelia, actually.”

My ears perked up at the sound of my predecessor’s name. “May I ask why?”

“I’ve been thinking about her ever since you were taken. At first, it was because I thought I’d lost you, too.”

My heart thudded.

“But there’s something else I can’t quite put my finger on,” he continued. “It’s as if my gut is certain that there is a link between your disappearances, but my brain isn’t convinced.”

“You think these witches could have taken her, too?” I asked. I racked my brain, trying to visualize the faces in the crowd that had watched the proceedings in the tent. There had been many bare-faced women there, but I could not recall anyone with Ophelia’s brown eyes and curly black hair.

If she had been there, I was sure I would have recognized her.

“No,” he replied absently. “I have another theory.”

“Care to elaborate?” I asked.

He turned, flashing a grin. “Not until I’ve gathered all the evidence.”

“Oh,” I replied. Disappointment coiled in the pit of my stomach, but I didn’t dare press him. I fiddled with the end of my braid. “Can I admit something?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“I really thought I was one of the last witches. Now that I know that I’m not, I’m not sure how I should feel. Grateful because for the first time in my life I’m not alone? Or terrified?”

The prince regarded me for a moment, saying nothing.

“You think I should be terrified, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you how to feel. I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through.”

I smiled faintly. His empathy mattered more to me than I cared to admit. “Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I’m still furious that they took me. But they’re real.”

“It’s complicated. I understand.”

I dropped his gaze. It wasn’t his understanding I needed. Mordric saw everyone in black and white. A threat or an ally. But I wasn’t sure it was that simple. What if these witches, for all their misdeeds against me, fell somewhere in the middle? I kept my thoughts to myself.

“You should get some rest,” said Enhart. “We’ll be in Valnar tomorrow.”

I blinked absently up at him. “We will?”

He nodded.

“Oh.”

I turned back to the fire. I had been so preoccupied with our flight from Hollybrook that I hadn’t even thought about what it would be like to be home. The summer solstice was nearly upon us, I realized, but I hardly felt more qualified to sit on Mordric’s council now than I had six months ago.

I pictured the King’s handsome face. Would he be happy to see me? Proud of my accomplishments? Or disappointed that I’d only managed to summon the Ealdorfyre once? Enhart had been so proud of me in that moment, but my triumph had been overshadowed by the twisted turn of events since. I touched a hand to my face, where the scratches had faded into three pink lines.