Page 170 of The Witch Queen

Blodwyn

Over the next day, I begin to improve.

My cuts and bruises are healing nicely and my limbs no longer complain at every movement. Soon, I’m feeling well enough that I’m restless and venture outside. My attention tracks to the north and I picture the palace rising over the forest. What’s happening there now? Did Ayleth capture the witches? Has Gavin returned? Perhaps, with me gone, he never left. Maybe they even reinstated the trials and he’s been named Heir. The thought doesn’t make me as angry as it probably should. After all, maybe Gavin ought to be crowned. He’s not the one being chased by a dead princess. Even in my sleep, I see her skeletal hands reaching for me from the darkness. Her croaking voice haunting me:

Blodwyn, pay the price.

How long before she follows me here?

“Stop that!” Roland’s voice carries across the yard.

He’s near the goats’ stable, fussing at Barnabas, who is currently munching on the pile of hay. Roland tries to shoo the enormous creature off, but Barnabas just grunts and keeps eating.

“Think you can do something about this overgrown cow of yours?” he calls to me.

Barnabas twitches his tail and snorts as though offended. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s still here. I fully expected that the stag would have returned to the forest by now, but he’s remained close to the cottage. More than once, he’s scared Roland out of his wits by trying to stick his massive head through one of the open windows. Barnabas wiggles his ears in what I take to be a greeting at my approach, pieces of hay falling out of his mouth as he chews.

“Can’t you leave some of it for the others?” I ask, patting his neck.

The stag reluctantly trots off in the other direction and sets to annoying the chickens.

“Why can’t you have a normal pet?” Roland asks. “One of those little dogs or something I’ve seen running around the palace?”

“Barnabas isn’t my pet.”

“Oh aye. That’s why you have a name for him. And I’m sure he has some other reason for rescuing you from certain peril.”

Roland has a point—about the rescue, anyway.

“Have you ever heard of an animal doing something like that before?” I ask, watching the stag. “He helped me at one of the trials as well. Fought off a Nevenwolf.”

“Must be mad,” Roland says, tending to one of the goats. I scowl at him. “Or he saw something in you worth saving.”

I’d like to know whatthatmight be.

“Right, then,” Roland says, dusting off his trousers. “Tilda and I are meeting with the Guild leaders. We’ll leave tomorrow and shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of days. Think you’ll be all right here on your own?”

I’m not sure I’ve actually everbeenon my own before and the idea is as foreign as it is terrifying. But, even alone, I’d rather be here than at the palace.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” I say, feigning confidence. “What do you think will happen at the meeting?”

“Don’t know,” he says, scrubbing the back of his neck. “But I doubt it’ll be pleasant.”

One of the goats wanders over and nudges his head against my leg. I scratch between his horns, earning a bleat of appreciation.

“Why?” I ask. “Are you worried they’ll be angry that you’ve been lying for Ayleth?”

I may be grateful for Roland’s—albeit reluctant—hospitality, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t you start. I’ve explained my reasons. You can take them or leave them. And I’m not the only one guilty of keeping secrets, now, am I?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, tapping his chin. “Maybe like when a certainsomeoneshowed up at the palace and declared the trials without warning. Think we Dwarves appreciated that?”

My brow furrows. “What did the trials have to do with you?”

“And there’s the problem, isn’t it?” He points at me. “You want to rule this realm, but you have no idea of the lives of those living in it.”