Page 355 of The Spider Queen
I rounded the bend and came to the wall of the castle. There was a wrought iron gate, but no guards stood watch. For a moment, I didn’t move. And then I took another breath and reached down to lift the gate myself.
I stepped into a courtyard. Green plants with flat leaves graced the perimeter. A fountain with a giant black spider adornment stood in the middle, water trickling down its legs and through its open mouth.
Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention. A woman was bent over the ground, facing away from me, a large straw-brimmed hat on her head.
Finally, she stood, dusting her hands off on a pair of old trousers.
She turned. Her green eyes sparkled like gemstones.
Green like mine.
My mother’s smile was wide, effortless. “I’ve been waiting for you, Stella.”
I studied her face. There were no lines on her skin, no markers from the passage of time. She looked the exact same as when I was a child. Her brown hair was plaited in a braid that trailed over her shoulder. Sunlight caught the lighter highlights and made them gleam.
“Mama,” I whispered and then I was running toward her, flinging myself into her arms. As we both covered each other in our tears, she touched my hair and face. Every now and again she pulled back so she could look at me before embracing me again.
I heard footsteps on stone and looked toward the sound. My father stood by, his gaze tender.
I gently detached from my mother so I could hug my father. Closing my eyes, I let his strong arms engulf me.
“Welcome home, honey. Let’s go inside.”
My father’s arms dropped from around me, but then he took my hand. My mother took the other, and we headed for castle door. We entered a long hall that was lit with torches of light. I looked around, studying the etched scrollwork in the walls. My childhood home was familiar with nostalgia. We came to the throne room. Two ornate thrones sat next to one another on a wooden platform. In the center of the floor was a spider overlaid in gold.
The walls were covered in a painted mural. I stepped closer to see it, seeing it with the eyes of an adult. I saw the scene where a woman raised a knife over a merrow.
Hunter.
It was so vivid.
But suddenly, I wanted to experience it for myself. I wanted to live their history through my own eyes.
So I pressed my hand to the enchanted mural. And suddenly, I was no longer in the throne room, but on the bank of a river, holding my mother’s dead body.
He bowed his head and wept against her mud-caked skin. His tears cleaned her, but unlike in the fairy tales of old, they did not possess magic to make her see, to bring her back to life.
He felt her slipping away from him. Perhaps she was already gone.
Howling like a dying beast, he begged the gods to give her life. She’d given him hope, she’d given him her love, and now she carried their child.
A child that would die with her.
Without her, his future would be hopeless and empty. He’d have nothing. A purpose, yes, for he was Guardian of the Bridge, but he would be alone.
He’d been alone before, until she’d come.
Until she’d freed him.
But there would not be another. He would only love once like he loved her in his very long lifetime.
He kissed her brow and rocked her like he wished he could’ve rocked their children. Her skin grew colder, her severed leg was no longer gushing blood, the wound from her stomach grotesque, her organs—
She’d become immortal. She should’ve been able to survive. But she’d been felled by a magical sword. With no thought to herself, she’d jumped in front of him to save his life and put herself in front of it.
He begged again, promising anything and everything that was his to give, if only breath would stir in her lungs.
“You wish to have her back?” a voice called.
