Page 188 of The Witch Queen

“You’re…Matilda?”

PrincessMatilda. Thelostprincess. But that means…

Pay the price,the ominous words echo beneath the crackle of the fire.

If this is the lost princess, then I know exactly what she wants. I turn on my heel, desperate to escape, but the door has closed behind me. And locked, apparently. I shove my shoulder against it, rattling the hinges, but it won’t budge.

“You needn’t fear me,” Matilda says. “I will not harm you.”

“Yes, it seemed that way at the ball,” I retort, shoving the door again. The stubborn thing refuses to give.

“I did not attend the ball,” Matilda says in her strange, calm manner. “The creature you saw was a witch. Someone we must both work to fight against.”

Awitch? That gives me pause. I turn around, searching Matilda’s face for any traces of deceit. Not that I consider myself particularly skilled at recognizing it.

“A witch?” I ask. “You mean Ayleth?”

“No. Not the queen.” A pensive, almost sad look crosses her face. “Come. I will explain. But we don’t have much time.”

Time.I’m suddenly very aware of the hazy, dreamlike quality of this place. Of the fact that if thisisPrincess Matilda, she’s not a rotting corpse. Which means…

“Am Idead?”

“No,” Matilda replies with a small laugh. “Not yet, at least.”

This does nothing to assuage my nerves. “What does that mean?”

“Think,” she says, patient. “Call it back.”

I do as she instructs, my mind wading through my muddy thoughts. Gradually, images begin to form: The cottage in the woods. The apple.

“Poison,” I whisper. “Verity…”

But no, it wasn’t her. The memory sharpens, showing me another face. An old woman.

“It was her,” I breathe. “The creature.”

“Yes,” Matilda agrees. “The witch who would consume your heart.”

Panic flares bright again.

“But she hasn’t…” I start. “You said I’m not…”

“The poison is holding you between worlds,” Matilda explains. “I didn’t give you the apple, but I am taking advantage of the situation. I have been trying to communicate with you for quite some time.”

“Trying?”

“Your fever was my first attempt,” she admits. “Though you were stronger than I anticipated. And there have been others. The book you found. The dreams.”

Wind pushes against the tower, carrying the call of a crow and a rasping voice.

Pay the price of blood and snow.

“All that wasyou?” Anger swiftly outpaces my shock. “I thought I was dying. That I was losing my mind. The hallucinations. The nightmares. Is this what you do for fun?”

“Please.” She puts up her hands in surrender. “I understand your frustration, but you must listen. And I know you’re curious about theotherbook you discovered. The one belonging to Sybil.”

Mother’s journal.