Page 59 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

While he moved his wings beside Dulce, gliding through the air, it was a peculiar thing. Natural. As if he’d flown his entire life.

Closer to their destination, the details of the castle became clearer. Its doors were entirely swallowed up by one of the ancient Trees of Life, this one larger than all the others. Bleached white, its branches spread out like twisted bones across the front of the castle. Its carved trunk opened without a sound and a line of shining carriages passed through, traveling west along a winding road, and Reed and Dulce slipped inside unnoticed by the guards. Their white, black, and gold uniforms were pristine, their spears shining before feathered helmets decorated in an elaborate insignia he didn’t recognize. Ashe watched the guards, he thought something about them seemed inhuman, their movements too precise, too coordinated, and when he passed within inches of one, he noticed their faces were obscured not by fabric but in swirling shadow. He concentrated on the wind caressing his feathers and followed Dulce.

She led him across a piazza of carved stone, and he knew she was being guided to La Bisou Morte by her location spell. Her wings fluttered faster, urgently, as they entered another courtyard, this one empty of guards, and glided over a garden of stone, its hedges, trees, flowers in full bloom, now nothing but granite and crystal.

“There,” Dulce whispered, her voice just the same in her raven form. “Beyond this door…”

Reed knew from his view of only a few hours ago that the castle was a round structure, that the middle of it must hold something of at least practical value. He didn’t expect what that would prove to be.

Cages hung in midair by some invisible force, filling the area like floating lanterns. Reed nearly flew into one, barely catching himself as he came face to face with a dour creature, its ivory wings folded beneath iridescent fur, curved horns shimmering like pearls. Its sadness was palpable, and as Reed gazed around, he was horrified to discover that each cage held a suffering magical creature.

A perfectly circular expanse of water lay beneath these floating cages, a liquid mirror, reflecting the twilight sky above the metal domes. And at its center, surrounded by equally spaced stone trees, stood an enormous golden cage, designed to house every comfort someone could ever want—a luxurious bed, a bath chamber of the finest marble, a sitting room filled with opulent furniture, fursand rugs that even at this distance appeared soft, a dining space dripping in crystal and porcelain, decorated in flowers made of shining silk.

But no door. No escape.

And in the center of this cage, gazing up at the sky, sat a ruby-haired woman—La Bisou Morte—dressed in a gown of all white.

Dulce and Reed flew over the water and landed just outside the bars.

Around the witch’s throat, she wore a stone very much like the Duke’s, but no ordinary necklace—its chain was attached to the top of the cage far above her.

The witch stirred, and sniffing at the air, she rose.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her bright blue eyes flashing as she held up a hand, and Dulce gasped.

The witch wore a ring identical to her own.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

DULCE

Time stood still for the briefest of moments as Dulce studied not only the stone mirroring the one that had belonged to the Duke, but also the ruby ring resting on La Bisou Morte’s middle finger.

Why did this woman have such a ring? For a moment, Dulce believed the witch might’ve stolen her own, taken it from her, even while Dulce remained cloaked in magic, her ring as hidden as her human form, though she still felt it in her possession.

The witch slowly approached the golden bars, her sapphire eyes lingering on Dulce, a line settled between the woman’s brows while she continued to peer at theravens before her. Reed cocked his head, edging closer to Dulce. The young witch was beautiful, her hair, the shade of the brightest red rubies, falling in shining waves to her waist. Dulce easily understood how Cornelius could fall in love with such a woman, not only for her striking beauty, yet also for the mesmerizing power that emanated from her.

But something was certainly amiss, because a witch this powerful would never willingly allow herself to be locked in a cage, a gilded bird, shackled by the neck.

The creatures dangling from the cages floating above the water garden whimpered in the fading light, their cries creating the saddest of songs.

This wasn’t what Dulce expected to find at all. So many questions whirled in her mind, she hardly knew where to begin. But before she could question the witch, the woman spoke, “You look like a raven I once had.”

“The one you left trapped inside a cabinet at your abandoned castle?” Dulce supplied. “The one that died because of the curse you brought to our land? Yes, I suppose I do look like that bird.”

The witch blinked, then narrowed her eyes, demanding, “Who are you?”

Dulce knew better than to transform into her human form, not with so many guards lurking about, and especially not while the witch was clearly being held prisoner. Held prisoner by whom, though?

“Who is responsible for your confinement?” Dulce asked.

The witch smiled sweetly, unfazed. “Answer my question first.”

“You may recognize my husband’s name,” Dulce said. “Cornelius Alastair Hale? Your lover. He attempted my murder. All for you.”

“Ah, I see. Dulce Bancroft. Fascinating.” The witch showed no remorse, not a flicker of guilt. Dulce wanted to feed her poisonous berries one by one until the woman’s veins turned black.

“I saw you that night,” she snapped, barely controlling her temper. “You poisoned our tree with your abhorrent spell.”

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