Page 49 of The Witch Queen

My breath comes in quick pants, and I can’t get enough air into my lungs. My hands clench and unclench, almost involuntarily. I stand and pace back and forth, starting then stopping repeatedly. Great heaves are the only way I can breathe, and the tightness in my chest is so painful I feel like I might implode. Shaking out my arms and rolling my neck, I try to stop the rising tension in my body. When that doesn’t work, I slump to the ground. The air feels thick, and I’m gasping for breath. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my head to my knees. Tears leak down my face, and my whole body feels like it’s on fire. My nails cut crescent shapes into my hands.Just breathe.

Lunaria nuzzles my neck, purring loudly. She always knows when I need her the most. She lays her body close to mine, and her heat seeps into my body, comforting me enough so I can calm my racing heart. I focus on the low vibrations of her purr, and it pulls me out of the worst of it.

I force myself to take a deep breath, open my eyes, and focus on what I can see around me. My desk. Breathe in. My favorite leather chair. Breathe out. This morning’s tea mug. Breathe in. A book left on the coffee table. Breathe out. A half-finished letter. Breathe in. Lunaria’s glowing eyes. Breathe out.

I run through this exercise, identifying sounds, then smells. I end by standing and focusing on my body. I feel my toes curling in my boots. I feel the braid of my hair tickling my neck. Another deep breath in. Breathe out. I collapse on my sofa in exhaustion, my body tingling and shaking from the rush of emotion.

Hawthorne’s too-handsome face returns to my mind. The way he’d exuded dangerous fury yesterday makes my blood heat, and it only confuses me more. I’ve reached the point where I promised myself I’d take action against the Velmarans. They’ve met the rebellion’s leaders and identified a location where they meet. They’ve given me names and even faces of the rebellion leader and his inner circle. They’ve discovered the one thing I’ve been trying desperately to conceal. I should get rid of them now, like I always planned, like Nemesia insisted. But then that face pops into my mind again, and the idea of killinghimmakes me nauseous. But if I’m honest with myself, I never really believed I would kill them. I had alternatives I would have used, like using the aether-voice to force them to forget. Right?

That uncertainty about myself and my intentions makes me spiral again. How could I have considered killing the only three people from outside of Thayaria who have ever offered me friendship? How could I considernotkilling them when they’re my enemy, when my only true friend told me to eliminate the threat the moment they learned too much? My head throbs with indecision and uncertainty about the best course of action. Despite all my best efforts to keep them at arm’s length, I’ve grown close to the Velmarans. I might even like them, or at least like Silene. Not to mention whatever is going on between me and Hawthorne. But he’sengaged, to the one person I can admit I like, and I’ve been shamelessly flirting with him. Am I failing my people by keeping them here, by allowing them to get closer and closer to me? Should I send them back to Velmara and deal with the consequences?

There’s a resounding answer that rings loudly in my head, in the place in my chest where I feel my magic.

No.

I promised Hawthorne the opportunity to prove himself to me. I owe him longer to show that he can be fully trusted. He’s done nothing to make me doubt him, and all I’ve done is look for his flaws, for any sign he isn’t telling the truth about his intentions. Despite our flirty banter, I haven’t really given him the chance I said I would give him. Sure, I’ve let him meet with the rebels. But when it really mattered, I kept critical information from him and exploded in rage when he made the only choice he could in an awful situation.

Tears run down my cheeks again, despite doing everything I can to lock them away. I hiccup and gasp for breath. Closing my eyes, I take more deep breaths to calm my raging emotions.

When the episode passes, I force myself to move forward. After a quick bath, I dress in loose trousers and an oversized tunic, braiding my wet hair. I stroke Lunaria’s head for several minutes. She slowly blinks her eyes at me, and calm washes over my tense body. When I’m done, I feel ready to face the consequences of my failure, so I once again aerstep into the Velmaran apartment.

Only Silene is in the sitting room when I arrive, and wariness makes her body tense when she spots me. “Thorne, Fionn,” she calls. “Her Majesty is here.”

I hide the hurt that she uses my title, knowing that it’s my own fault for how I behaved yesterday. Fionn quickly walks to stand in front of Silene, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at me. I raise my hands in silent supplication. Thorne only leans effortlessly in the doorway of Fionn’s room, staring at me with a look that says I have some explaining to do.

“I came to apologize,” I say quickly. “I was out of line yesterday. My guilt and fear were overwhelming, and I took that out on you. I’m sorry.” Shoulders slumping, my gaze locks on my feet in shame. Warm arms wrap around me, and Silene’s cinnamon scent soothes my aching chest. I stiffen awkwardly, not sure what to do.

“We understand, Laurel. Yesterday was awful. There were no good choices. For any of us,” she soothes, and my arms involuntarily return the embrace. It’s the first time I’ve hugged someone other than a lover since the war. Nemesia and I have never embraced one another, not even when she left for Velmara.

Silene squeezes tighter before releasing me, and I survey the room as she backs away. Fionn still looks pissed, his hulking frame poised to attack should I make any wrong moves near Silene. Hawthorne eyes me skeptically from the doorframe before walking closer with an unaffected grace that I could only dream of pulling off.

“You left. In the middle of our argument,” is all he says when he reaches me. My eyes drop to the ground again.

“I know. I’m not good with conflict. I get angry, and that scares me, so I leave before I can hurt anyone,” I admit, emotion making my throat tight, and I fear those tears from earlier will return.

Hawthorne chuckles. “You weren’t afraid of hurting anyone yesterday, witchling. You just didn’t want to admit that I was right.” My fury returns at his arrogance, all other emotions eclipsed by my annoyance at his words. No one has ever gotten under my skin like he does. I’m trying to apologize, am practically laying myself bare, and he shoves it in my face. I roll my eyes and glare at him. Once again, our bodies are closer than I would prefer. I see the way his chest moves up and down with his breathing, the tiny gold threads interwoven in the fabric of his clothing.

“That is not—” I start to protest, but Hawthorne cuts me off.

“You know I’m right. Let this one go,” he says arrogantly but firmly. Something about the earnest command in his voice makes me back down.

“Fine. Yes, you were right. Happy?” I sneer. A half smile quirks his lips as he steps closer to me and brings his mouth to my ear.

“Elated,” he whispers before turning and walking to take a seat on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other, appearing completely unaffected and relaxed. Blood rushes to my cheeks as I realize he was just looking to get a rise out of me and that—once again—I fell for it. I’m even more angry that it was exactly what I needed to pull myself together. I want to snap his neck where he sits, so confident in his own smug righteousness, but all I can do is gape at him.

Silene, always one to read a room, takes my hand in hers and leads me to sit across from Hawthorne on the sofa. Fionn stands behind the Prince, unwilling to forgive me yet.

“I’d like to give you an explanation, Laurel. Now that tensions have dropped,” Hawthorne says, all the seriousness from yesterday returned to his features. I only nod. “The leader of the rebellion, the one you saw at the processing tower, forced our hand.” I sink further into the sofa where I sit with shame. Not only was the male I released from my cells in charge of yesterday’s attack, but he is theleaderof the rebellion. The horror of the last few years of rebel strikes could have been eliminated, if only I hadn’t fallen for his act. Hawthorne stares at me with curiosity but says nothing as he continues his explanation.

“We were told about the campaign with only an hour to decide what to do, and they had us watched the entire time, as Silene said. I decided to stay, calculating in the short time we had that it was better to keep our cover while attempting to mitigate the damage. Itwasan impulsive decision, but I still believe it was the right one.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“But, Laurel, I swear—” he chokes up as he continues. “I swear to you, we did not know it would be that bad. We thought it was an attack on infrastructure, that they’d destroy and loot shops to distract from the real mission. I thought Fionn and Silene could help divert the worst of the damage, and that I could keep the rebels from getting crates of thayar.” His eyes are pleading, and I can see the guilt written clearly across his features, despite his surety about the decision.

“I believe you,” I say, because I do.

“Do you know—do you know how many were injured?” Fionn interrupts. I hear the unspoken words.Do you know how many died?Despite his stony demeanor, there’s an internal turmoil inside of him. I had previously misjudged him as nothing more than a burly husk, but he has a depth I should have noticed before.

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