Page 5 of A Witch for Solstice
“No,” she says. “What’s fire flooding?”
“Therapeutic exposure to your element to balance your system,” I answer, waiting for her to catch on to what I’m saying, but her face stays fixed in a blank stare. “Perhaps it’s called something else in the Witchlands?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of that method.”
“That’s strange. How did Headmistress Maven help you to control your outbursts while you were learning?” I probe, cold dread wisping through my veins as Brigid pales.
“I won’t lie to you. I caused a large fire about fifteen years ago, when I was fourteen,” she says, her voice strained. The cocoon tightens around her shoulders in response to her anxiety. “I’ve been spell-blocked from using my magic ever since.”
My ears ring as I process what she’s saying.
The fucking Shadowthorne Coven has no business running an Academy. Headmistress Maven might not have harmed Brigid physically, but repressing a witch’s magic is a special kind of torture. It’s mental and spiritual cruelty.
“I understand if you want to send me back to the Witchlands,” she continues, calling me back from my angry daze. “I tried to be upfront with you, but once I felt the fire calling to my magic, I couldn’t tame it.” Her eyes close tightly. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Your Majesty. I promise I didn’t come here as an enemy.”
I have the strongest urge to set everything on fire again. I want to fly into the Witchlands and claim revenge on her behalf, ruin the Headmistress’ Solstice vacation. She deserves it after forcing my mate to spend more than half of her life with a broken spirit.
One day…I promise myself. One day I’ll take care of Maven. But for now, I need to focus on helping Brigid feel whole again.
“No, you didn’t.” I rake my claws through her hair, stroking it away from her face. “Deep in your heart, you knew to come find me.”
She cracks her eyes open, her wet lashes sticking together. “You’re not sending me back?”
“To the ones who did this to you?” Noticing how she flinches at my low growl, I soften my voice to say, “I would never.”
She loosens a sigh. “Maybe my intuition did lead me here. I’ve read that you’re a kind, reasonable queen, and that you love—”
“What do I love?” I tease as a red flush spreads across her freckled cheeks. I know damn well what the gossip columns say about me.
“It’s not important. It’s just tittle-tattle.”
“Ah, but my cousin and I enjoy readingThe Daily Bardwith our morning tea. It can be rather amusing.” I drop my head back against the wall. “So tell me, what did you read that gave you the idea to tie yourself up in a pretty red bow and send yourself to me?”
She chews on her lower lip, her blush deepening. “I’ve read that you’re rather fond of women.”
“Yes, and?”
“You’re beloved by your people, and most admire your rebellious nature, but the noble families worry that you might buck the tradition of naming a mate during your first year as a monarch.”
“That’s true. They’re all gathering at the castle as we speak, waiting for me to make an announcement at the ball tomorrow evening.” I can’t believe she showed up just when I’d given up on one of my biggest dreams. “You have impeccable timing.”
Her lips twitch into a shy smile. “I figured you were going through a stressful time and that I could provide some comfort.”
“What a lovely idea, but you should know that I’ve been peckish with my courtships for good reason, sampling my way across the territory because I’m terrified I’ll miss out on the love fate intended for me.” I lean in closer to breathe her in, getting drunk on the fiery sweet scent radiating from her skin. “The columns have it all wrong—I’m not a rakess, but a romantic.”
Our gazes lock, and her lips part as the mate bond thrums between us, a vibrating string drawing us nearer. Her chin tilts up, and mine angles down. Our mouths are mere inches apart when a raspberry bubbles from her lips, snapping the tension.
“Spoken like a true rakess,” she giggles. “Whew.You almost had me there.”
She blows a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. The mothsilk is still tight around her shoulders, which means she doesn’t feel comfortable around me yet.
I reel back, perplexed. “Didn’t you dream of meeting your fated mate when you were a young witchling?”
I know true mates are rare, but I thought she would understand my desire to find mine. I shake that thought away, recognizing my privilege. Given her circumstances, she might not have had time to fantasize the way that I did.
“Um. I think that might be a dragon thing.” She bites her lips together. “How does that work, anyway? Do you lay eyes on each other and know you’re meant to be together?”
“Something like that,” I wheeze out on a strained breath, her statement knocking the wind out of me.
