Page 187 of The Witch Queen

“Just hang on,” I tell the princess, lifting the antidote to her lips. “Just—”

A shadow, sharp as a whip, lashes out of nowhere. It srikes my hand hard enough that I cry out, dropping the vial.

“Leaveher,” Mother orders.

She marches toward me, the black stain of blood on her chest widening by the second. Mother’s shadows mass and I brace myself for their blow. But then something huge and blazing lifts out of the fire and hurtles toward us. I yelp and duck, shielding Blodwyn as a flaming log soars over us. When it passes, I look up to discover a pair of frantic blue eyes meeting mine.

“Jacquetta! How did you—”

“Help her,” she says, jerking her chin at Blodwyn. “I’ll handle your mother.”

“You can’t! The last time—”

“I allowed Cassandra to frighten me away once before,” Jacquetta says, her jaw setting. “I’m not going to do it again. Ever.”

Emotion tightens in my chest. And I want to tell her how grateful I am. How sorry I am for everything that’s happened in the past. But then I see Mother rise to her feet, her expression murderous.

“Hurry,Ayleth!” Jacquetta urges.

Then she summons another spell and charges back into the fighting. Every instinct screams at me to go after her. Protect her. But I will myself to focus. I scoop up the vial, then curse as I discover that most of the antidote has spilled out. But it’s better than nothing. My hand shaking, I pour the few remaining drops into Blodwyn’s mouth.

“Come on,” I whisper, squeezing her hands. “I know you’re still there.”

She doesn’t respond. I can’t determine if she’s breathing. I tip the bottle to her lips again, but it’s all gone now.

“Youcan’tleave us,” I beg. “Not yet.”

Because this can’t be how it ends. Blodwyn is so cold, though. The poison in her veins is everywhere. Just like with Rhea.

Rhea.

A wild thought takes flight in my mind. I turn my palm up, studying the faded lines that make up my sister’s mark.

That’s like us.Rhea said.We’ll always find our way back to each other.

It can’t work, I think. Blodwyn isn’t even a witch and the mark certainly didn’t save Rhea. But I have to try something. The knife of Ascension is nearby. I grapple for it, then drag the blade along the lines of the triangle on my palm. Gently as I can, I do the same to Blodwyn. Her blood shines crimson against her pale skin. And then I press our palms together.

One heartbeat. Two.

And then the world explodes in white.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Blodwyn

The palace is cold and empty.

Everything appears murky, like I’m viewing it from underwater. The faces in the portraits are warped. The scenes in the tapestries shift and change in odd patterns. I can barely feel my feet padding through the endless, deserted corridors. Eventually, I reach a part of the palace I don’t recognize. It reminds me of the abandoned Order’s wing. Cobwebs drape down from the ceiling, and a thick layer of dust carpets the floor. An ancient staircase waits in the distance and I obey the strange impulse to climb it, discovering a door at the top, its wood grayed and worn with age. Inside, there’s a narrow chamber, one entirely incongruous to the rest of the wing. The curtains on the bed appear new and are embroidered with an unfamiliar family crest. The other furnishings are polished and shining. And the fire in the grate is lit, casting a warm glow over the room.

“Hello, Blodwyn.”

I startle at the voice, spoken by a woman sitting in a chair by the window. Her long, black hair is bound in a braid that reaches her waist. Her obsidian eyes study me intensely. My brow furrows. Because there’s something oddly familiar about her. Like we’ve met before.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

She smiles softly. “In a way. We’re acquainted through the pages of my story.”

Her story? Understanding reaches through the fog of my mind.