Page 94 of The Queen's Box

Severine gave Willow’s hand a gentle pat where it rested against her forearm. “Still, we have reached... a tipping point. What Serrin needs now requires more than the child’s play of bringing forth a simple dove or cat.”

Willow’s stomach tightened. Not once had she pulled a dove from the water. Or a cat. None of the animals—half-drowned and limp though they’d been—had come easy. Each time, it had cost her something. It had never been child’s play.

They passed through the iron gate and, yes, into the tangled borderlands beyond the manicured gardens, where well-groomed rose paths gave way to wild thicket. Willow fought a welling of disappointment. The parchment, the summoning, the vast topiary chessboard... they’d been distractions, misdirections. The pond had been their destination all along.

Severine slipped her arm from Willow’s and stepped forward alone, looking out over the water.

“You’ve brought Serrin back to us, you know. He’s strong enough for tomorrow’s ceremony. He’s very much looking forward to it.”

Willow tried to keep her breathing smooth. “As am I.”

“But he is not a boy who can be saved by scraps,” Severine continued. “Before you become queen, you must offer him something special. A singular, untainted life.”

Willow’s pulse skittered. “What does that mean?”

“A child,” said Severine. “A mortal one. A baby.”

Willow’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.

“The child has been chosen already, with great care. A soul on the edge. You will give purpose to a life that would otherwise waste away.”

“Severine, please,” Willow whispered. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“I’m not asking.” Severine reached for Willow’s hand and guided her forward through the grass. “You love him.”

The pond rippled, its surface pulling at Willow’s gaze.

“You’re meant for him. And he for you.”

Severine pressed down gently on Willow’s shoulders. Willow sank to her knees.

“Good girl,” the queen murmured. “Such a good girl.”

Willow tried to look away, but the pond held her fast. She watched in horror as a small form rose through the scum. A baby, its pale and perfect flesh tinted green by the pond. It was barely a month old, its eyes cloudy, suspended a foot below the pond’s surface like a slice of fruit in Jell-O.

It kicked one leg weakly.

“This is not cruelty,” Severine said from behind her. “This is a gift—for both boys.”

Willow squeezed shut her eyes and saw Cole, his face a mask of anguish.My brother didn’t vanish. He was taken.

Her eyes flew open. The baby’s tiny foot rose and broke the surface.

“The darling!” Severine cooed. She stepped past Willow and crouched at the water’s edge, cupping the baby’s heel in her palm. “So perfect, so dear. Couldn’t you just gobble him up?”

Somewhere in the real world, a mortal mother would wake to find her baby gone—and in his place? A pile of sapphires.

Severine transferred the baby’s foot to Willow’s hand. She folded her hand over Willow’s, squeezing until Willow’s fingers adhered to the baby’s damp flesh.

“For Serrin,” Severine lulled.

The baby’s foot twitched in Willow’s palm like a warm little fish. Her thumb grazed over his toes, five perfect tiny toes, plus one more for luck.

“No!” Willow cried. She released the baby and jerked her hand to her chest, clamping her other hand over it to hold it in place. She scooted backward on her knees, away from the pond and away from the child who was already, mercifully, sinking back into the depths.

“Wait!” Severine howled. The sound ripped out of her, a saw on bone. “Come back!”

She struck the water with her bare hand, sending up a splash of cold water that burned Willow’s cheek. Then Severine leaned forward and clawed at the pond, scooping out water hand over hand. The water gave up nothing, indifferent to her hunger.

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