Page 103 of The Witch Queen

Pain shoots in my chest at the thought of the sweet female I’d begun to care deeply for. Even though she betrayed me, in the end she lost her life trying to protect me. The way her usually vibrant face looked after Silas sliced her throat, those eyes completely hollow of the life I cherished, flashes across my mind. Deep breaths do little to ease the stab of grief, but I choke back my tears. I won’t cry, not down here, not until I’m out of here and know that Laurel is safe. Then I can lock myself in my family’s cabin far from here and grieve Genevieve the way she deserves.

As soon as I landed at the port, I walked through the mist. Years ago, Laurel somehow spelled the magical barrier to allow me to come and go as I pleased, even though I rarely use the ability. Unlike many others, I didn’t need to wait for someone to collect me and quickly made my way into Thayaria. But not twenty minutes after I settled in by the fire at The Emerald Shell, soldiers arrived and arrested me. Mazus’s books were taken from me, and an air channeler aerstepped me directly into the palace cells. Carex arrived shortly after, giving me no information other than my arrest was on Laurel’s orders. His eyes held pity in them.

Surely Laurel had not ordered my arrest, or if she had, it must be part of some scheme I don’t yet understand.

After what feels like hours, footsteps echo off the rock hallway, the only noise I’ve heard since arriving other than the drip of water. I stand and smooth the pitiful excuse for clothing I’m wearing, ready to laugh with Laurel at whatever’s going on and tell her everything I’ve learned. The movement of my left arm makes me wince, but I ignore the stabbing pain, resolved to show Laurel the calm and put together demeanor she expects from me. But when she arrives, the Velmaran Prince at her side and expression cold and filled with fury, no amount of resolve can keep the emotion and panic from my voice.

“Laurel, thank god you’re here. I have so much to tell you. What’s going on?” Her face hardens and she bares her teeth, only adding to my confusion.

“Why don’t you answer that question first? Why areyouhere?” she demands. I recoil from the ire in her voice.

“What—I don’t—Laurel, I escaped Velmara. Barely. I need to talk to you. Privately.” There’s pleading in my voice, a crack in my exterior. Laurel doesn’t seem to notice, too consumed with her fury. My eyes dart to the Velmaran Prince next to her, and I try to convey with my eyes that he should not be part of our conversation, whatever scheme she’s playing at be damned. Prince Hawthorne stiffens by her side, subtly shifting his body to stand in front of her.So, they have grown close, as Mazus said.

“Traitors are not afforded a private audience with the Queen,” Laurel hisses at me, and my mouth actually drops open in shock.

“Traitor?” I whisper, my brows furrowing. Is this what Mazus wanted Hawthorne to do? Did the Prince grow close to Laurel so he could somehow convince her I’m a traitor? She’s too smart to fall for something like that, too calculating and distrusting. “Laurel, there’s been a mistake. I don’t know what you think you know—”

“I don’tthinkanything,” she snarls. “I saw the evidence with my own eyes. Tell me, when exactly did you start working with the Sons and Daughters of Thayaria? Was it you who has been leaking information that bolstered their recruitment efforts? You who told them all of our plans?”

I’m speechless. I open and close my mouth, unsure how to even respond. The rebels—how could she possibly think I would work with them? That I would betray her? Some scheme is at play here. Either Laurel is trying to convince the Prince she thinks me a traitor, for what reason I can’t say, or the Prince has actually convinced her I’m one. I wrack my brain, trying to weave pieces together that just don’t fit. I debate playing along, but the situation is too urgent.

“Laurel, please,” I plead, but she cuts me off.

“Save your breath. You’ll rot in here while I determine what to do with you.” Then she turns on her heel and marches out. Carex gives me another pitying look before following her, but the Velmaran Prince hangs back, leaning toward me in the cell. His eyes are dark with a protective anger.

“Whatever lies you’re trying to spin in your mind right now to get out of this, save your energy. I’ve spent centuries at the Velmaran court. I can spot a lie from a mile away,” he whispers, his voice pure venom. Then he too turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving me reeling.

Three days pass in complete solitude, kept company only by stoic guards and the occasional servant bringing me meals. I try and fail to summon the aether, over and over again, even though I know it’s completely impossible. At some point, a healer comes and tends to my shoulder, removing the ache but leaving a numbness in its wake. In the prison’s silence, all I can do is think of Genevieve—her smile, her laugh, her unbridled love for research. The way she blushed when we did something she’d never done before. How even after everything she’d been through, she’d still knownIneeded tojump, and not just off the cliff into the Velmaran sea. Her amber eyes and black curls haunt me, both awake and dreaming. I lose my resolve to wait until I’m closed away in the cabin to grieve for her. Sobs wrack my body in an endless cycle of desolation and longing and pure, aching sadness.

I should’ve known our affair wouldn’t be a secret with all the eyes Mazus had on me. I was afoolfor forgetting where I was. I want to be angry with Genevieve for betraying me to Silas, but I can’t. She’d lived her entire life at the mercy of others, contained within whatever cage her closest male relative had built for her. I don’t blame her for jumping at the chance to improve her station.

When I’m not thinking of Genevieve, I pick through every detail of my last days in Thayaria before leaving for Velmara, trying to discover the action that’s been interpreted as traitorous, but come up blank. The longer I go without answers, the more my confusion turns to anger. It consumes me. Either Laurel believes the worst of me without even hearing my side of the story, or she’s made me a pawn in some larger strategy without consulting me and left me here to rot.

I saw the evidence with my own eyes, Laurel had said.What am I missing?

Carex visits on what I think is day three, though he provides no information about what made Laurel think me a traitor. Doubt clouds his eyes as he questions me about my involvement with the rebels. Whatever evidence Laurel thinks she has, I can tell Carex doesn’t believe it. But he’s too loyal to her, tooin lovewith her to ever go against her wishes. What a useless excuse for a male. If only he could have seen that what Laurel needed was someone to challenge her, maybe they would’ve stood a chance.

Laurel finally visits once I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve been in this underground hell. I don’t bother standing this time, my fury burning too hot to even look her in the eyes.

“Come to make baseless accusations again?” I spit. Her eyes widen for an instant before the cold mask I know so well returns. Not once in three hundred and twenty years has that mask been turned on me, and it both breaks my heart and enrages me in equal measure. “Or are you here to secretly torture me, like you’ve done to so many other prisoners down here?”

She flinches, and I know the blow lands as I intended. Laurel has never let go of her guilt, even as she holds onto the rage that drives her down here in the first place, stuck in an endless cycle between the two. The mask returns, though I can’t help but notice her eyes show regret and sadness.

“I’m not here to torture you,” she croaks out. “I’m not—I don’t—I don’t even know why I’m here,” she admits, and I study her closely. Dark circles line her eyes, just like how I left her. But there’s also a lightness to her I’ve never seen before. She practically floats as she paces, wringing her hands. I wonder whether she and the Prince have discovered the mating bond yet.Would they even know what it is?“Nemesia, how could you?” she asks, mask cracking to show the vulnerable female beneath.

“I don’t even know what you think I’ve done, I swear that to you. I’m your friend—your sister. That hasn’t changed,” I tell her, my voice losing some of its edge. “There’s so much I need to tell you, Laurel. I—the books. I had books with me, but they were taken. Youmustget them to Admon, he’ll know how to read them.” Regardless of what she thinks I’ve done, those books cannot fall into the wrong hands. She only studies me closely.

“Admon has had the books since the day you arrived,” she acknowledges curtly, and some of the tension I’d been holding releases. Admon will be able to gently explain the mating bond to her, of that I’m sure. “The letter—we found the letter you wrote to the rebels, telling them that the thayar flower once existed in Velmara before disappearing,” she continues, accusation back in her voice. “You told them of your research in the archives.” Bright green eyes bore into me. I furrow my brows.

“I didn’t write any letter to the rebels, but that informationisaccurate. There’s so much more to it than that…” I say, wondering whether this letter was forged with early discoveries I made. I walk through my early time in Velmara, before Mazus gave me his books. Realization dawns on me. I quickly stand and stalk toward her, pressing my body against the bars of the cell. “Laurel, that letter, did it mention the Floating Market at sunset?” I ask, frantic. She nods. “I wrote that letter for you but decided not to send it. I’d completely forgotten about it until now. Mazus must have found it and gotten it into Thayaria somehow.” My voice is pleading as pieces click together in my mind. My anger is gone, replaced with worry for her. Mazus clearly has a contact in Thayaria. It would be so easy for Prince Hawthorne to gain her trust, then give her this letter that Mazus sent him.

Now her brows furrow. I can see her mind racing, eyes darting back and forth as she considers my words. I also see the moment she decides she’s not ready to believe me. She shakes her head, backing away.

“It’s too easy a story,” she whispers. “You would know what was in the letter, could easily have just spun this tale. There have been no other leaks in your absence.” Her features harden. “When you’re ready to tell the truth, send the guards for me. Until then, enjoy your cell.”

With that, she disappears, not even bothering to walk away.

Laurel

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