Page 48 of The Witch Queen

They appear in the room using Silene’s enhanced magic, looking worse for wear. None of them jump when I emerge from the corner, demanding answers, though this time they should. “What the fuck just happened?” My voice is lethal, a blade sharpened in anger and haughty righteousness.

Silene and Fionn are covered in grime and blood, and I instantly pace towards Silene, feeling a protectiveness for the young fae that surprises me, despite my fury. She senses my distress.

“It’s not mine.” The usual joyfulness in her voice is gone, and I vow to not let my care for Mazus’s future daughter-in-law sway me from taking the action I know needs to be taken.

“What. Just. Happened?” I repeat my question. Silene tenses, and her eyes search mine. From the corner of my eye, I see Fionn move in front of Hawthorne. I turn on them. “What. Thefuck.Happened?” I demand. The room shakes. “Tell me now,” I roar with the aether-voice, and they all drop to their knees. Hawthorne looks up at me for a long moment before speaking, staying crouched on the ground even as he explains. At least now he has the sense to cow before the roiling brutality in my voice.

“When we got to Oakton, they told us about the attack happening today and asked for my help to get them into the processing tower. It was another test. If we wanted to keep our cover, we had to help them.”

“And you made that decisionunilaterally? You decided to sacrificemy peoplewithout even consulting me? I’m not sure what you think it means to make kingdom-impacting decisions on behalf of the monarch, but in Thayaria we consider that treason.” The words hiss out of me, my rage boiling over. How dare he decide this on his own. The room shakes again, and the doors to the patio shatter as tendrils of ivy break through them and inch toward the Velmarans, ready to shackle them.

But instead of showing fear, Hawthorne only stands and stalks toward me, his own anger visible now. In a flash, he’s sliced through the ivy creeping toward Silene and Fionn with a beam of light, not breaking his stride. I don’t back down either, conjuring swirling water to surround me, even though the sight of his stony face hurts me more than I want to admit right now.

“Just likeyoudecidedunilaterallyto keep critical information from us,” he sneers as he makes the water I’ve conjured disappear. If I weren’t so angry, his power would impress me. He’s taking my magic head on, matching my strength with his own. “Why didn’t you tell us that the thayar flower is declining?” There’s a severity to his tone I’ve never heard from him before.

My entire body tenses. I knew it was a possibility they would find out, an inevitability really, but I wanted to delay the conversation for as long as possible to avoidthis moment.Avoid the decision I must now make.The conversation with Nemesia in Delsar replays in my mind.

And if he finds out more than he should? If he somehow sees something that puts Thayaria at risk, or discovers the declining thayar? What should I do then?

You should kill him.

Nausea and indecision wrack my body while the Prince continues his rant.

“This rebellion is about more than disagreement with your decision to keep Thayaria behind the mist.” I sit in silence, my heart and my brain at war with one another. “What, now that I’ve pointed out your own poor decisions you have nothing to say for yourself? These people areafraid, and you kept that from me.”

I snap, unable to keep my cool around this infuriating male and forgetting the conflict just wracking me. “So that excuses them attacking innocents and children, does it?” A wind whips around him as ivy crawls up his legs, but he doesn’t balk. His lightning strikes the air above me in response, though I know it’s more a demonstration that he’s not afraid than any real threat to me. Somehow, even now, with both of us angry, I know he won’t hurt me.

“No, it doesn’t excuse it at all. But it does make this rebellion more of a threat. People will do anything when they’re afraid like this. What I saw today was… unfathomable. Horrifying. And I hate that they got away with even a single petal of thayar after learning what they use it for. But you should have told me what I was walking into, thedangerI was putting Silene and Fionn in. You let me assume they were harmless farmers playing at rebellion. Silene went into that meetingunarmed,for aethers-sake.We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into today.” His eyes storm with fury, and I realize our bodies are only inches apart, the wind whipping Hawthorne’s black hair out of place. His jaw feathers with his rage, and an involuntary desire to soothe the quivering muscle overcomes me. Instead, I step back, keeping my icy rage firmly in place.

“I won’t apologize for doing what any ruler would do in my situation. I provided you with the information you needed to complete the mission. No more, no less,” I say firmly, pushing down the guilt at putting Silene—putting them all—in danger with no warning. Hawthorne only scoffs and turns away from me. I’m about to follow him, to close that distance again, but Silene’s hand on my arm cools my temper slightly.

“Laurel, we wanted to leave and warn you. But we were being watched. There was no way to get to youandkeep up the ruse. It was a tough call that Thorne had to make,” she tries to soothe.

I jerk my arm from her touch. I don’t want to be made to feel better about this, not when I’m still so angry and so guilty and so unsure about what the right call is regarding them. Hurt flashes through her eyes, but I ignore it, not willing to examine any feelings I might have other than rage.

“You made the wrong call,” I sneer at Hawthorne, who turns back to face me with an incredulous expression. More lightning streaks across the room of the ceiling, and he surrounds us in mist, making us invisible to Fionn and Silene. Once again, the casual display of so much power makes something buried deep in me respond, but I ignore it.

“I made the long-term, strategic call. You’re short-sighted, Laurel, and it shows,” he says with so much haughty arrogance that I want to slap the confidence off his face. The space between us has once again been closed, though I’m unsure who stepped closer. His jaw clenches and unclenches as I stare daggers into his eyes. I feel his breath dance across my face, and the sensation sends goosebumps to my arms that I ignore.

“Short-sighted? How is not wanting hundreds of my people to die and even more injured short-sighted?” I ask, my own incredulity apparent in my voice.

He rolls his eyes as energy courses between us. “If we’d left, it would have told the rebels exactly what we were doing. Not only would they have continued this attack, but they likely would have been able to get more thayar without me hiding most of it from them. They would have packed up their headquarters and moved out, returning you to exactly where you were before with no idea where they are or what they’re planning. Countless more would have died.That, Your Majesty, is the epitome of short-term thinking.” Those mossy, olive-green eyes alight with challenge as he smirks in a way that brings out his insufferable dimple. No biting retort comes to me. He’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. Hawthorne continues, leaning in close so our lips are only inches apart. “The greater good, Laurel.That’sthe decision I made. And if we’re going to be allies, you’re going to have to trust me to make those kinds of decisions.”

I want to snap back that we are not, willneverbe, allies. Not with everything that’s happened between Velmara and Thayaria, between his father and me. Not when even now, in this very moment, I’m debating whether I should kill him and his entourage. Instead, I turn in place and aerstep away, running from the conflict and the way it ignites my blood and my magic.

The next morning, shame courses through me at my reaction to the Velmarans. I laid in bed last night, alternating between chastising myself for what happened and replaying the Prince’s words over and over again. He was right—he’d made the difficult decision I’m not sure I would have made. Not only that, but he’d kept his cool and helped mitigate the theft while silently reminding me to play pretend in the heat of the moment. He took action, something I’ve never been able to bring myself to do, while keeping me from ruining our only chances of learning more because of my quick temper.

Once again, someone else had to intervene to keep me from my worst instincts. Something I repaid by using the aether-voice on him and his friends, taking away his agency even though he would have happily given me the information. It was unspeakable, and every decision I’ve made up to this point has been the wrong one.

Time and time again, I’ve let the rebels get away with their attacks. I may torture those who I deem responsible for violence, but I almost always leave them alive, unable to deliver that final blow. Even when the mist prompts me to kill someone, I always hesitate until it urges me into action. On the rare occasions I do snuff out someone’s life, like at Rusthelm, I feel guilt for weeks. Usually, if there’s even a hint that they’re nothing more than a scared citizen looking for whatever hope they can find in a troubled time, I let them walk free. And I gotplayed. That red-headed fae male is no farmer, and I let out the single person in charge of the strike. He had to be, with the way the other rebels looked to him for guidance the moment I’d appeared. We could’ve prevented this entire tragedy had I seen through his lies and done what rulers are supposed to do.

I sit with indecision and bone-deep grief on the sofa in my sitting room, unable to bring myself to get out of my sleeping clothes or do anything other than wallow. My eyes are heavy with lack of sleep, my muscles sore from how tightly I’ve clenched them all night long. I know I need to apologize to the Velmarans—to Hawthorne—but the idea of facing anyone when I’m sounsettledmakes my body shake with nerves. Examining my feelings, I try to uncover what has me feeling so on edge.

Control. I’ve had control over everything that touches this kingdom for three hundred years. Or at the very least the illusion of it. Knowing that someone else made a decision without me brings a tightness to my chest that I dislike. That I loathe, if I’m being honest with myself. And yet—I’ve had nothingbutcontrol for centuries, and look at where it’s gotten my kingdom. Thousands of citizens opposed to my rule. A rebellion fueled by fear and hatred. Thayaria’s only revenue-generating export declining rapidly. And along with it, the gut-wrenching fear that something is very wrong with the magic of our land because I canfeelthe way the aether is declining in Thayaria alongside the flower. The decline might even be my fault, a mist leeching away the magic that I can’t undo, leaving me terrified I’ll accidentally use the colossal amount of magic that comes second nature to me and destabilize the aether. To top it all off, we’re now reliant on the kingdom who attacked us without cause for both our revenue and our wheat. My own magic—I push that thought away, not willing to examine the fear that has plagued me for the last few decades.

And now, who knows how many dead or injured from an attack that isall my fault.There’s no one to blame but me. I let out the person who orchestrated the whole thing. I let the rebels grow this powerful. Nemesia always wondered why I was so unwilling to do anything about the rebels for so long, why I insisted they were my problem to solve. The reality is that, on some level, I agree with them. The mistshouldbe lifted, our peopleshouldbe free to travel and trade as they wish, and I’mnotfit to rule.

You failed Thayaria yesterday. You’ve been failing them since you took the throne.

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