Page 94 of The Witch Queen

Hours later, Thorne and I are together in my sitting room, the late afternoon light spilling over us as he attempts to cheer me up by teaching me various small magic tricks—the kind that children learn to pass the time and show off for one another. My failure to take out the rebels made my chest tight, and as usual, Thorne immediately noticed and whisked us into my rooms to “hang out,” as he had so casually said.

He creates animal shapes with light, having them dance across the ceiling while I laugh in delight. He scoffs when I immediately master the ability to make light shoot out of my eyes in rounded beams. We end the session in stitches as we shoot huge balls of light at each other that do no damage. It’s friendly and normal, though I can’t shake my feeling of disappointment.

Thorne takes my hand when he senses my mood shift again. “What’s going through that mind of yours, witchling?” he asks, a familiar phrase at this point. I don’t know how to answer him, don’t know how to explain that sometimes it’s all justtoo muchto process and think about. And lately, thattoo muchfeeling has only grown with the flower declining, then the rebels, then Nemesia. I say the only thing I know with certainty.

“I need to get out of this palace.” My voice cracks with emotion.

Thorne is instantly up, my hand in his. “Take me with you,” he implores. “Please.” Without answering, I aerstep us away.

Laurel

Any magic practiced without the aid of a conduit for aether—water, plants, air, metal, or light—is considered witchcraft and is forbidden. The most well-known witchcraft is blood magic. Blood magic refers to the act of using blood, typically fae blood, as a conduit for the aether. Very little is known about blood mages, but most scholars agree that the use of blood unlocks powerful and nearly limitless abilities, especially when combined with spellwork. For this reason, blood magic is an abomination, an evil practice that is illegal in all kingdoms of our realm.

The Unabridged History of Magical Orders, Volume I

We step into a clearing in the southernmost tip of Thayaria. It’s much warmer here, only a half day’s sail from the coast of Reshnar. The hotter temperatures mean the foliage has almost fully regrown after Abscission. Towering maple trees create a canopy over the small glade, and bright pink, white, and red azalea bushes bloom with tiny flowers in a circle around us.

“Where are we?” Thorne asks, eyes vivid with wonder.

“This is where my mother grew up. Humans live all over Thayaria, but they’re most concentrated on this small peninsula. My mother grew up in a small home built in this clearing. She planted these azalea bushes as a child—they were her favorite.”

“I always forget that your mother was raised by mortals. What happened to her home?”

“It fell apart. My parents were well into their third centuries when they had me. Structures built by human hands aren’t meant to last more than a few hundred years. It was gone before I was even born. But my parents kept this clearing undeveloped so my mother could come back here. Some of my earliest memories involve running around this little circle, my mother chasing me.” I smile, lost in the memory, and Thorne wraps his arms around my waist from behind. These small moments of physical intimacy are becoming more and more familiar between us.

“It’s beautiful here,” he whispers in my ear, then kisses my neck. I arch my back into him, and he tightens his grip.

“There’s a small estate just over the hill there. It looks over the sea. My father built it for my mother, who loved this region and spent most winters here, where it was warmer. She never adjusted to the frigid air of Abscission in Arberly. They used to hold court for humans at the estate.”

“Do you come here often?”

I shake my head. “Not as often as I should. I haven’t been able to bring myself to hold court at the estate—it reminds me of them too much. But I also can’t leave it to rot, so it sits here empty,” I admit, though I leave out how I feel like the estate has become a ghost, reminding me of my parents and hollow of the life it once had. Unwrapping Thorne from my body, I take his hand and lead him to the stone path that will take us to my parents’ second home. “There are human servants who maintain the estate. It’s a way for me to employ as many humans as I can in the region to bolster their economy,” I explain to him as we walk. “I suspect we’re going to surprise, and potentially terrify, a few of them.”

“Good thing I can charm anyone,” he teases, and I roll my eyes.

When we arrive at the home, my breath catches at the beauty of the grounds, despite the hundreds of times I’ve visited. The front of the main house comprises four massive floor-to-ceiling windows facing the sea. Lush green grass covers the grounds that decline slowly to a small, private sandy beach. The barrier of mist that circles Thayaria is about a half mile out from the beach, allowing for enough space to swim. In the late afternoon light, the house sparkles from within.

Turning to Thorne, I watch as his eyes dart from the house to the beach and back again. “Ready?” I ask. He nods.

We walk in through a side door and down a marble lined hallway to the main entrance of the home. The foyer is made of the same dark green marble of the palace throne room, a massive black iron chandelier lighting the room. Matching staircases lead up to the second floor on both sides of the foyer. Instead of heading upstairs to the main living area, I release Thorne’s hand and walk quietly toward the kitchen, where I know most of the servants are gathered.

When we enter the warm and lively galley for the estate, a dozen humans startle at my presence. Many of them have never met me. Their nervous glances tell me they’re uncertain what to make of this surprise visit. The main housekeeper, Meera, an older woman who travels to Arberly once a year to update me on the status of the estate, smooths her skirts and dips into a deep curtsey, and the rest of the servants awkwardly follow her lead.

“Your Majesty,” Meera says calmly. “What an unexpected but delightful visit from you. Welcome back to Eless Estate. How can we assist you today?”

“Thank you, Meera,” I tell her with a reassuring smile. “I’m showing His Royal Highness, Prince Hawthorne of Velmara, some of my family’s favorite places.” Hawthorne bows deeply in respect of the humans, and it warms that place in my chest I’m learning is reserved just for him. The expressions of the humans are split equally between fear and awe.

“We’ve heard of the ambassador from Velmara even all the way down here,” Meera says with the smile of a courtier. “I’m happy to see the Prince has been a trustworthy emissary.” I inwardly applaud her careful navigation of a situation that must feel extremely uncomfortable for the humans here.

I smile. “Yes, he’s proven to be a true ally of Thayaria. Please, don’t fret over our presence. You can prepare my suite and the guest room down the hallway for the Prince. Other than troubling you for dinner, which we’ll take in my suite, you may continue your usual routine. We’ll be on the terrace.” Meera nods in acknowledgement, then quickly sends various servants off to complete preparation tasks.

Thorne follows closely on my heels as I lead him up the stairs and out a set of double doors to the second-floor terrace. It faces away from the sea but overlooks the misty rolling hills of the southern part of Thayaria. One side has a pergola covered in fragrant wisteria, the other side lined with padded outdoor furniture. I flop down onto a chair. Sprawled across the chaise lounge, the sun beams down from low in the sky, and I feel that first warmth of spring begin to unthaw my bones. Thorne pulls a chair up close so that he can hold my hand.

“Do we care if the servants see us being affectionate?” he asks with a teasing tone that doesn’t meet his searching eyes. It’s a fair question, one that I’m not sure how to answer. I think for a moment.

“The servants here are from families who have served the Elestrens for centuries. I believe they’re trustworthy. And their eyes are very sharp. They’ll likely suspect either way. So no, we don’t care.” The admission is exhilarating.

“In that case,” he says with a sparkle in his eyes. “Scoot up.” I lift my back, and Thorne steps his long legs over the back of the chaise so that he’s seated behind me, my back nestled against his chest between his legs. I instantly clench my thighs, need coursing through me. When he runs his hand down my braid and loosens the weave, I think I might light on fire.

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