Page 125 of The Witch Queen

Lord Warbeck’s boots thud on the packed earth as he stalks away. Isink farther into the shadows until he’s gone, then check around the door of the stall. If it were me in Gavin’s place, I’d be smashing everything in sight. Taking out my rage on whatever objects I could get my hands on. Instead, Gavin is sitting down. A red welt blooms on his cheek, which glistens with silent tears. Barnabas is looking over the door, concerned.

“Gavin,” I say quietly.

Horror flashes across his features. He stands at once, swiping his face with his sleeve. “Blodwyn. I was just—”

“I heard everything,” I say. He looks away, ashamed. Buthedoesn’t have anything to be ashamed about. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s”—he swallows—“nothing I can’t handle.”

That makes it even worse. Barnabas snorts in what I take to be agreement.

“Why don’t you leave?” I ask. “Get away from him?”

“And go where?” Gavin lifts a shoulder. “Leaving Father means abandoning the responsibilities of the estate. And I made a promise to…”

He trails off, but I recognize his pained expression from my own years of mourning.

“A promise to your mother?” I ask. He nods. And I recall what Lord Warbeck said. “What…did your father mean when he mentioned her?”

Gavin stiffens. I expect him to tell me that it’s none of my business. He’d be right. But then—

“When I told you that she died of plague,” he begins, running a hand through his hair, “that wasn’t the whole truth. My mother…she grew up near a Sanctum. It was before the war reached its height, so a coven of witches lived there. Mother used to visit them. She said she sometimes even learned from them.”

“Shelearned?” I ask.

“Mother wasn’t a witch,” he says firmly, guessing my thoughts. “But she…knew things. Blessings. Tinctures. She used to visit our tenants on certain days of the year, drawing wards to strengthen their lands. Brewing remedies to stave off illness.”

“But if she wasn’t a witch, how did any of that work?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “And don’t mistake me. We still endured our share of poor harvests or sickness. But what Mother did…it helped. Until Father found out.”

The call of a crow echoes from outside. Barnabas snorts, twitching his ears.

“He didn’t agree,” I say.

Gavin huffs a laugh. “An understatement. He forbade Mother fromdabbling in her sorcery.Burned all her books, smashed her jars of ingredients. He even instructed the gardeners to dig up her herbs.” He pauses. “I begged Mother to heed him. We all knew his temper. For a while, she seemed to comply. There were no more stories or strange plants. Mother prayed to the Light like everyone else. But then…”

A muscle in his jaw feathers.

“Plague swept our lands,” he continues. “And I fell ill. The fever burned so hot inside me that I was certain I would die. But Mother remained at my bedside. Spooned tinctures into my mouth. Whatever she did, it worked. I lived.”

Gavin clenches his fists. And I know without asking that this story does not end well. Even Barnabas lets out a low keen.

“When Father discovered what Mother did, he was beyond livid. His shouting alone was enough to shake the whole house.”

I cringe, recalling similar arguments I’d overheard between my own parents. The scars they left behind Mother’s eyes.

“What happened to her?”

“That’s the thing,” Gavin goes on. “The next morning, Mother was shut away in her rooms, said to have contracted the plague. The day after that, she was dead.”

The words shudder through me, along with Lord Warbeck’s:

If you defy me, consider your mother.

“You think…” I trail off, not daring to speak the words out loud.

“That my father killed her?” he asks, easily enough that I know the question has crossed his mind a thousand times. “I don’t know. But I do know that he would have if he felt it was warranted.”