Page 70 of The Flame King's Queen

I laugh and help my sister to her feet. “That they did. Who knew that you would one day be so happy to admit it?”

Fiala promises Anise to take her to see Captain Ashton in the morning, and she will speak to him about getting her signed up for the trainee program. My sister skips away back into the Great Hall, her manner lighter and happier than I’ve seen in years.

“I probably should have talked to Dad before we promised all that,” I say with a twinge of regret.

Dusan eyes me curiously. “Will he protest, do you think?”

“I’m not sure. He didn’t get a say in what happened to me, or what happened to Ma and Waylen. Anise is the only one he has left. Dad was raised under the Brethren, who always told him that the husband should make all the decisions for the household. I’m so used to Zabriel encouraging me to follow my heart in all things and admiring whatever strange magic I produce that I forgot that not everyone is as accepting as he is.”

I trail off as I see Kane still watching Anise with narrowed eyes. He looks angrier than ever. We’ve spoiled his fun.

I walk over to him. “Were you enjoying yourself just now, making my sister miserable?”

“You think I acted out of malice?”

“Don’t you always?”

He eyes me narrowly. “Do you know what’s more dangerous than a witch?”

“We’re not danger—”

“A witch in denial. Your sister is a little fool, and she was never going to admit to herself what she was. If I didn’t make her see what you, my mate, and your stupid old crone missed, one day her powers could have boiled over and killed someone.Thank you, Kane. I am in your debt, Kane.”

“You find the cruelest way to go about everything. No wonder your so-called mate despises you.”

“You’re so obsessed with hating me that you won’t listen to my warnings. Maybe your sister isn’t everything that I’ve been sensing, and she’s made from sugar and sunshine, but there’s something dark in this castle. I’m not wrong about that. I’m never wrong about that.” Kane strides away, his hateful black cloak billowing behind him.

It’s not pleasant, learning that my sister dislikes the thought of being a witch and harbors some envy toward me in her heart. At least everything is out in the open now, and hopefully she’ll be able to pursue her dreams.

But I can’t help but worry over what Kane said. Hatred and dark spells. I gnaw on my lip, not liking the suspicions that are swirling in my heart. Anise doesn’t know the first thing about dark spells. I don’t think he was sensing Anise. Which could mean…

First I walk in one direction, telling myself that I should go and do something about my suspicions. Then I walk the other way, reasoning that it’s not really any of my business to get between the two of them. Finally, I turn sharply for the third time, telling myself that it will be my business if my friend does something unwise and is dragged before my mate for judgment.

I don’t like the man, and I would prefer if he was gone. I’ve wished for his demise, especially at her hands, but with a clearer head, I don’t think that’s the best course of action for either of them.

A few minutes later, I’m tapping gently on Ravenna’s door.

“Come in,” she calls.

When I enter, Ravenna is sitting on the rug with herbs and books spread out around her, bundling up dried plants with twine. If I hate Kane, then the witch before me must burn with the desire for revenge.

She beams up at me. “It’s so good to see you, my queen. I feel like we’ve barely had the chance to talk since the Dragon Games began.”

There’s a fire flickering in the grate, and by her side is a stool with a pot of tea. She reaches for another cup, fills it, and passes it to me. I take a sip, and the taste of gooseberries and bergamot burst on my tongue.

“This is delicious, thank you. Have you been watching the games?”

Ravenna sips her own tea thoughtfully. “I told myself that I wouldn’t. I let Kane see me bearing the dragonmaster’s colors and that was supposed to be enough, but…” She flashes me a quick smile. “I confess I find it all quite thrilling. I’ve always kept away from celebrations and gatherings because they were too dangerous for a witch. I never joined in the village festivals and fetes, and I made myself believe I wasn’t missing anything. Gathering herbs by moonlight in the empty woods, that suited me just fine. But I’m safe wherever I go now, more or less. Moving in vast crowds of people means I’m no longer in danger of being grabbed by a hundred pairs of hands, dragged to the scaffold, and burned at the stake. At first it was a little frightening watching the games, but now I’m rather enjoying myself. The dragons are all so beautiful.”

“That makes me so happy to hear. Your life should be filled with all the things you love.” I play with one of Ravenna’s loose pages for a moment. “I’ve had barely any time to think of spells and visiting my crone. Those necromancy books have been on my mind. But tell me, what does it do to a witch if she uses dark magic?”

“Well, that depends,” Ravenna says thoughtfully, and takes a sip of her tea. She doesn’t seem to mind the sudden change of subject. “Some spells are dark because of what is needed to cast them. The blood of an unwilling victim. The tears of a terrified child. Others are dark because they control another’s will. But if you use a dark spell with good intentions, like to protect innocents or in self-defense, is it still a dark spell? That question is interesting, but there are very few books on the ethics and morals of magic. The Brethren called all magic evil, even a harmless healing spell, so there wasn’t any nuance to explore. We should talk to the warlocks at the archive about commissioning some works on the matter.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” I say, but I still feel uneasy about what Ravenna might be up to. “Are there consequences for using dark magic? What if a witch feels hatred for someone who is deserving of hate and seeks to hurt them. Will she, I don’t know…” I search to pinpoint my worries. “Lose a part of herself that’s precious?”

Ravenna stares at me for a long time in silence, the firelight flickering in her hazel eyes. In a darker tone of voice, she says slowly, “Some spells are cruel, but perhaps under certain circumstances, the recipient is deserving of cruelty and a taste of the suffering that he has wreaked. It would be a black mark on a witch’s soul, that is certain, but perhaps she won’t mind a few blemishes, and hopes that no one will think less of her for her flaws.”

“I would never look down upon her. But I would worry for her.”

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