Page 171 of The Witch Queen

He sounds like Gavin, and I bristle. “That’s not my fault. I’m not the one who levied the edict against the Dwarves. I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“Maybe not,” Roland allows. “But what would you do?”

The question presses on a tender place. The throne was always more Aunt Margaret’s quest than mine. I never imagined my life beyond the trials. Never really believed I was capable of leading Riven. How could I be, when I wasn’t even able to see the betrayal that was right in front of my face? From the people I trusted most?

“Aye,” Roland says, reading my silence. “Well, it seems like you’d best figure that out.”

With that, he heads back to the cottage.

A crow calls somewhere in the distance and the wind picks up. Beneath the susurration of dry leaves, I swear that I can hear the sinister voice of the lost princess:

Blodwyn, pay the price.

—

Tilda and Roland prepare to leave the next morning. Roland blusters around the cottage, rattling off endless lists of instructions—items I’m absolutely not permitted to touch, how to take care of the chickens and goats, and what to watch out for in the forest.

“And under no circumstances is your pet cow allowed in the house,” he adds.

“Barnabas?” I ask. “He can’t even fit through the door.”

Roland grunts. “I wouldn’t put it past you to try. We’ll come back to him sleeping all nice and cozy-like in our bed.”

I roll my eyes, half tempted to find a way to squeeze Barnabas in here out of spite. Tilda pats my arm.

“Don’t mind him,” she says kindly. “He’s just worried about you.”

“He has a strange way of showing it,” I mutter.

But then I catch Roland testing the lock on the door a few times.

“I’m sorry we can’t bring you along,” Tilda says. “But you’ll be safest here. I’ve left plenty to tide you over. There’s a stew in the pot. And several loaves of bread in the cupboards. A pie. And don’t forget the cheese.”

It’s more food than I could ever manage to eat and I nod, trying to disguise my own nerves. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Right, then,” Roland says. “We’d best be off. Just remember: Keep to the cottage as much as possible. Don’t go wandering around. Anddon’ttell anyone who you are.”

“And here I was planning on making a formal announcement,” I say dryly.

Roland just scowls at me, but Tilda smiles.

“You two are better suited than you think,” she says. “But he’s right. Becareful.We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Aye,” Roland agrees. “And I expect to find my house in one piece when we do.”

With that, Roland straightens his jacket and leaves the cottage. Tilda gives me a quick embrace, then hurries after him. I watch them go through the window. As they disappear into the forest, I get the strangest feeling—like something is coming.

But then the moment is gone.

—

For the rest of the morning, I keep myself busy with feeding the livestock and taking care of the cottage. But no matter how much I work, I can’t settle my nerves, which only worsen when the shadows of evening start to lengthen. As Roland instructed, I bolt myself inside the cottage, watching the forest darken and half expecting the creature to materialize from between the trees. A crow calls overhead, its shadow swooping over the yard. Other shadows start to shimmer as well. Far in the distance, I can almost detect the glimmer of a pair of crimson eyes.

“Hello?” someone calls.

My pulse ratchets up. I dart out of view, keeping close to the wall to peer outside. A figure traipses out from the forest. Not a shadow creature or the lost princess, but a person. Roland told me that no one else lived around here, though.

“Is anyone in there?” the person calls.