Page 40 of The Witch Queen

You will burn,Mother’s warning echoes beneath the crackle of the fire.

“I’ll fix that,” I say, earning a dubious grunt from Roland. “I was friends with the princess before. I can win her back. All I need to do is show her that I’m not the villain Margaret has evidently painted me to be.”

“Oh aye,” Roland says. “This is a wonderful plan. Very well thought out. No possible way it could end in disaster.”

Nettle trills, as if seconding his opinion. I shoot her a glare.

“Do either of you have a better idea?” I ask.

Roland only grumbles something under his breath.

“I understand that you have concerns,” I allow. “But both of you thought I’d lost my mind when I broke the Veil. And, aside from these trials, look where we are. I have no intention of losing everything now. But I’ll need your help to keep that from happening.”

Joan and Roland exchange a wary look, but they must know that there’s no other real choice.

“Fine,” Joan relents. “What can I do?”

“It would help to know more about Margaret,” I tell her. “And why she wasn’t invited back to the palace after her marriage. There has to be more of a reason than her station. In fact, even the missing records seem suspicious to me now.”

“You may be right,” Joan replies, frowning. “I’ll see what I can discover. What about you, Roland? Do you know anything about the king’s sister?”

“Sure,” he says, swatting Nettle away when my cat starts playing with the ring of keys hanging from the Dwarf’s belt. “We were quite close. She shared all her secrets with me.”

“Can you just check the Dwarvian records?” I ask, exasperated. He makes a gruff noise of agreement. “And perhaps you can bring me a gift for Blodwyn? The first trial is a hunt, so a weapon might work. Something impressive.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” he grudgingly replies. “Literally. Given that my Mines were blown to bits.”

With the commotion surrounding Blodwyn, the attacks slipped my mind. Malum swells inside me, images from that awful day resurfacing.

“How are things there?” I ask. “Rosemary and—”

“They’re well enough,” Roland replies, scrubbing the back of his neck. “Though it’s not easy. Tilda and I have our cottage in the forest, but the rest aren’t so lucky.”

“Send word of what you need,” I tell him. “I want to help as much as I can.”

Roland jabs a finger at me. “If that’s true, then you best sort this mess out. And quickly. Otherwise, we’ll all be paying for it.”

With that, he summons another door, yanks it open, and stalks off into the darkness. Nettle meows, disappointed at losing her source of amusement, and returns to bullying Fitz.

“He’s right,” Joan says, nodding in the direction Roland went. “You need to be careful.”

“I am,” I promise. “Nothing will happen to you or—”

“Not just for me,” she says. “For the princess. You can’t treat her like she’s a piece on a game board.”

“Tell that to Margaret,” I grouse. “It’s precisely whatshe’sdoing.”

“And you’re taking lessons from the duchess?”

“Of course not. But we can’t let her win. You have as much to lose as I do if Blodwyn, or anyone else, assumes the regency.”

“That might be true,” Joan allows. “But the princess is sixteen. Perhaps she’s lashing out at you because she’s grieving. From what you’ve told me, you understand that.”

Joan doesn’t know everything about Stonehaven, but I shared about Rhea. Sixteen was the age I’d lost my sister. I press my thumb into the place on my palm, against the nearly invisible lines drawn in the shape of a triangle. Rhea’s mark. A rune that would always connect us, she promised. But love, I’ve found, never lasts. All it does is weaken you.

And I will not be weak. Not ever again.

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