Page 177 of The Witch Queen

By some miracle, we’re able to secure a few horses and leave the palace gates undetected. But even with Margaret’s guidance, we spend the whole of the next day crashing through the forest in search of the cottage. I don’t let myself rest for an instant, dread coursing through me in waves. Whatever fate befalls Blodwyn is my own fault. If I’d given the princess the same love and respect I craved, she might still be safe in the palace. And if anything has happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.

At long last a crow lands on the uppermost branches of a tree in the distance and lets out a long shriek.

“There,” Joan says, pointing ahead.

The cottage Margaret described waits peacefully in the clearing beyond, like a place out of one of Willa’s stories. Dappled sunlight shines down on its thatched roof and patches of moss climb up the sides. Chickens and goats roam the yard. But the quiet only increases my suspicion. I have never missed my shadows more as the three of us make our way out of the forest, ears pricked for danger. I reach for the knife at my belt as I ease open the cottage door.

“Hello?” I call. Silence answers. But then, near the table, I spot a familiar shade of dark hair, like ink spilled over the floor. “Blodwyn!”

The princess is lying in a heap on the ground, unconscious. Her skin is pale and cold, her veins visible beneath the surface, a dark purplish color. I lean close, but I’m not able to detect her breath. Her heartbeat is so faint that it’s almost nonexistent. There’s a half-eaten apple nearby. I pick it up and sniff the flesh, inhaling a floral, overly sweet scent. Almost like…

“Poison,” I whisper, fear skittering down my spine.

“What kind?” Joan asks.

I can’t tell from the scent alone and so I cleave the apple in half with my knife. A deep violet shade—the same as what I saw threaded beneath Blodwyn’s skin—is buried in the core. My brow furrows, my mind rapidly combing through the ingredients Mother forced me to learn.

“Midnight flower,” I determine at last. “It causes a deathlike sleep. One that…becomes permanent.”

The three of us share a solemn look.

“But…if this was the creature, why bother to poison her?” Jacquetta asks. “I thought she wanted the princess’s heart.”

I shake my head, as confused as they are.

“That doesn’t matter,” Joan says, springing into action. She jumps up and starts rummaging through the cupboards. “Do you know the antidote? There might be something here that can—”

A blast rocks the cottage.

My scream is lost in the explosion of glass and the quaking of the walls. I throw myself over Blodwyn, shielding her from the flying debris. When everything settles, I lift my head to find the room in shambles. Broken dishes are scattered over the floor. Furniture is blown to bits. Jacquetta and Joan are both huddled nearby, their arms over their heads. Joan looks up first. She has a cut on her temple, blood leaking down the side of her face.

“Whatwas—” she starts.

“Usurper!”

The croaking voice resonates from outside. Recognition lands like ablow. It’s the same voice I heard on the night of the Remembrance Ball. Then again at the Sanctum.

“It’s her,” I say. “The lost princess.”

Jacquetta looks at me, fear shining in her blue eyes.

“What the hell are we going to do?” she asks. “You don’t have your power and mine is nothing against hers.”

True enough. But I look down at Blodwyn, lying unconscious on the floor. She wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me. I have to try something.

“She’ll die if we just sit here,” I say. “We all will. Maybe we can manage to scare her off. We’ve done it before.”

Jacquetta weighs this. “All right.Shit.This is going to end badly.”

An understatement.

“I can try to help,” Joan offers. “Maybe—”

“No, you stay with Blodwyn,” I tell her. “Keep looking for something to counteract the poison.”

“All right, yes,” she agrees, though I can tell she’s terrified. “I’ll do my best. Be careful.”

Careful is long behind us. But there’s no other way. I look to Jacquetta again, who nods, resigned. And then, before I lose my nerve, I pick up my knife from where it fell and head outside. At first, it seems as though the creature has vanished. There are only the goats bleating their complaints and the panicked chickens molting feathers as they fuss around our ankles.