Page 16 of The Witch Queen

“Aye. And how much longer are you expecting this war to go on?”

It’s not the first time Roland has posed this question. I’m honestly surprised the Dwarves agreed to assist in the war at all. After being freed from the Crown’s edict, I assumed they would retreat into their villages and leave us to fight alone. I wouldn’t have blamed them for doing so. But as Roland explained, the war is as much the Dwarves’ concern as it is Riven’s. Should Rycinthia seize the realm, the Guilds may not be protected under a new king. With me, at least they’re guaranteed safety. It’s enough that I can count on their weapons’ supply, and for that I’m grateful.

“Hopefully not much longer,” I tell him. “This last battle was decisive. If Rycinthia has any sense, they’ll sue for peace.”

“Never met a mortal with much sense,” Roland comments. “But if they do surrender, what next? Do we have anything to worry about?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not just Rycinthia stirring things up, is it?” he says. “If your lot keeps making trouble—”

“They’re not my lot,” I interrupt, lowering my voice.

“Call them whatever you like,” Roland replies. “But I doubt they’ll just go away if they don’t get what they’re after.”

He glances pointedly at my crown. The Bloodstones. Roland is perhaps the only person in Riven who is aware of what they are. He must be, given that he’s the one who forged my crown in the first place. But, like Joan, not even Roland is privy toallmy secrets. He knows that the covens want the Bloodstones, but not the full reason why. And he has no idea of the power this crownreallyholds.

“I have them under control,” I say. “Or I will, once this is over.”

“Aye, that sounds promising.”

“Have I ever broken my word before?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

He grumbles something under his breath, but he can’t argue. Roland railed at me for weeks after the night in Ignatius’s lair, badgering me to allow him to attempt to fix the Bloodstones. Reforge the Veil. But I’ve proven to him that the Dwarves don’t need to fear Malum. Not so long as they’re loyal to me.

Still, Roland’s questions nip at me. WhatwillI do when this war is over? I’ve imagined what it will feel like to stand before Mother and the rest of the coven witches a thousand times. Force them to kneel. But then what? They’ll never accept me as queen. Never accept Malum. I’ve sent witches to the pyre before, but my own sisters? Mother? And what abouther?

The phantom scent of juniper carries beneath the earth of the Mine.

“This way,” Roland says, veering left.

The tunnel opens up into a wide cavern, a vast, enormous space. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, water dripping softly from their tips. The walls are layered with gray stone that, at first glance, appears to be glittering. But, as I step deeper into the chamber, I realize that it’s not the rock itself that sparkles. There are jewels embedded in its surface. Hundreds of them, arranged in constellation-like patterns that span the entire length of the cavern and even stretch up to the ceiling.

“What is this place?” I ask, awestruck as I study an oval-shaped gem.It’s a bright canary yellow, with pieces of what could be amber buried in its core.

“The crypt,” Roland replies.

I jerk away from the wall. “Thewhat?”

“It’s Dwarvian burial tradition,” he explains. “The bodies of our dead are compressed into a jewel. Sometimes the families keep the gems and pass them down among themselves as heirlooms, but they’re often returned to the Mine where the Dwarf served, as a way to honor their work. Some say it even strengthens the mountain itself.”

It’s a fascinating custom, one similar to the covens’ burial rituals. At the Sanctums, the dead were burned on the coven fires, freeing a witch’s spirit but allowing her ashes to remain, a practice that was thought to feed the magic of the entire coven. That’s why I believed I saw Rhea in the flames on the night of my Ascension, because her very bones were scattered beneath my feet. What would my sister have looked like as a jewel? Green was her favorite color. I brush my fingertips along the cold facets of an emerald and swear that I can hear a faint hum within it, like a heartbeat.

Ayleth.

A chill snakes through the crypt.

“But that’s not the important bit,” Roland says, bringing me back into the cavern. “Here.”

He motions me over to the other side of the chamber. The walls here are studded with more gems, but something is leaking from them. A dark crimson substance that runs in rivulets from behind the jewels. A substance that appears suspiciously like…

“Is thatblood?” I ask.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Roland agrees. “But gems don’t bleed. Was hoping you’d have a better guess.”

I shake my head, bewildered. “No. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Even my shadows seem perplexed. They drift over the crimson tracks oozing down the wall but immediately shy away. Strange—they’ve never behaved this way before.