Page 82 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“So, they possessed Ewan to make some kind of sacrifice on their behalf?”

“Could be. Death is a powerful source of magic. And five deaths? Channeled by the right person? Unimaginable.”

I grimaced. “Could it have been an offering to the gods?” Malteth, the God of War, derived his power from blood spilled on the battlefield. He wasn’t the only one. Many of the lesser gods were known for their love of violence.

“No gods that I know of,” he said. “They prefer their sacrifices to be killed honorably, if you can call war honorable. And no god I know of uses the pentagram.”

I stared wordlessly into the empty cavities of what had once been a woman’s face. She could be Alice, the merchant’s daughter, whose family pleaded for answers at the feet of the King himself. I would never forget the sight of them in the great hall, the distance between them spurred by the loss of their child. Or perhaps she was Ruby, the servant girl who couldn’t shed her past life no matter how hard she tried. The young woman whose place I could have easily taken if not for a twist of fate. No one but Sigrid had asked after her, but she still mattered.

She mattered to me.

Anger ignited in my chest. I wouldn’t let any of the bodies in this room become faceless piles of bones and ash. I couldn’t. My eyes snapped up from the remains as Enhart straightened. “Don’t tell me that you’re about to be sick,” he said warily.

“I’m not,” I lied, bile rising in my throat. “This is just a lot to take in.”

He was by my side in an instant, his fingers wrapped around my elbow. “Might I suggest you tell Mordric about this? He has all the resources in the kingdom at his disposal.”

“He’s already made it pretty clear that he doesn’t approve of me getting involved in this,” I said.

“Perhaps he’ll change his mind,” the prince countered.

“I won’t.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin, treading on Enhart’s toes as I spun around. Mordric stood below the opening to the cellar, his lips pulled into a straight line. Anger wafted from his skin like smoke.

His eyes swept over us, landing on his brother. When he spoke, his tone sent a chill down my spine. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s my fault,” I said, ignoring every instinct that screamed at me to keep quiet. “I asked him to bring me.”

“You put her in danger,” Mordric accused his brother, continuing as if he hadn’t heard me.

“I had everything under control,” Enhart countered.

“Under control? She looks like she’s about to faint.”

“She’s fine.”

“I can speak for myself, thanks,” I snapped. “It’s just a bit of a shock. You know that Enhart wouldn’t put me in danger, Mordric. You wouldn’t have trusted him to train me if you thought otherwise.”

I resisted the urge to recoil as Mordric’s cold gaze shifted to me. “We’re leaving.”

“There could be important information here—” I began, my words cut short as he wrapped an arm around my waist and shot up through the cellar door and onto the street.

He dropped me with a thud. I cursed, tripping over my own feet in order to stay upright. Enhart slipped out of the cellar, lowering the door back into place behind us.

“Mordric, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, but I can’t pretend like this doesn’t matter to me anymore,” I pleaded. “It’s important.”

He rounded on me. “The only important thing is that you’re safe. There is a carriage waiting at the end of the street to take you home. You will get in it without protest, or I will throw you into it myself. Go.”

I shook my head, scarcely believing my ears. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

I bristled. “I don’t appreciate you ordering me around like a child you—”

Beside me, Enhart groaned. “Do you see?” he said to his brother, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if staving off a migraine. “I’ve been telling you this whole time that she’s a pain. Imagine having to deal with this every evening.”

Air hissed between my teeth. Prick.