Wooing the Witch Queen (Queens of Villainy #1)

Chapter 17

17

The first hint Saskia had that her sweet-tempered librarian was up to mischief came when she crept into the library late that night. As had become her recent habit, she waited until she was certain that he had left it for the evening, using her crows as baffled spies on her behalf and ignoring their grumbling as well as she could.

Why wouldn’t she want to visit when Fabian was there? None of them could understand it. After all, whenever they visited, he gave them strokes, snacks, interesting buttons, and other small trinkets that he came across. In turn, they unanimously adored him, although Oskar jealously maintained his own superiority in Fabian’s affections, beating off other too-friendly contenders with fierce squawks and pecks.

The real problem, of course, was that Saskia shared those feelings—and was far too likely to attempt more intemperate stroking of her own if she didn’t force herself to keep her distance. There was no explaining that sort of dilemma to her crows, though, so they were still muttering complaints at her through their bond as they scattered off to follow their own pursuits for the night and she slipped through the library doorway into the big, darkened room.

Rather than turning on any of the waiting gas lamps, Saskia breathed a lick of flame into her cupped palm and set it hovering in the air above her head, moving with her amidst the piles of carefully stacked books. By this time, she was familiar with the general reasoning behind those piles; she moved without hesitation to the large stack set against a newly emptied bookcase, still clearly waiting to be sorted the next day.

Until a week ago, she’d spent her free time hunting for a spell of finding to deal with the obstreperous Estarian Archduke; now, with his divine ally in mind, she was on an even more urgent hunt for any book or ancient manuscript that might help her defend Fabian against a goddess.

When she glimpsed a single sheet of paper on top of that waiting pile of books and manuscripts, she assumed it was merely another piece of the collection. Then she recognized the elegant, restrained handwriting of her librarian, and her brows furrowed.

Fabian kept all of his notes carefully sorted on his study table. Had he left this one here by accident?

Calling down the ball of flame, she scooped up the sheet of paper and held it up to the light.

Lightning at her fingertips

Stars in her eyes

Leaving me blinded,

Shot through with glory.

~F.

A crow feather was sketched in black ink underneath… beside a crown of bones.

Saskia’s breath stopped in her throat as she stared at that crown.

Did he—had he meant her to see—was she only imagining—? Or—?

Why couldn’t she think properly?

She had to breathe.

Saskia let her held breath out in a rush, and the paper fell from her loosened fingertips.

She dived for it without a second thought—and the ball of fire dived, disastrously, with her. The next few minutes were lost to an undignified scramble in both physical and magical terms, but when she finally straightened, breathing hard, she held the undamaged paper in her hand. The flames had all been safely extinguished, with only the tiniest bit of charred leather on two bound books to mark that the incident had happened at all.

Perhaps she ought to leave a note of apology about the damage?

No. What could she possibly write to him after reading that message?

“Shot through with glory…”

Was that really how she’d made him feel?

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter, for his sake. In fact, she should leave this poem here, in case he hadn’t meant her to see it in the first place.

But somehow, she couldn’t quite let it go—so it stayed, carefully folded and tucked into the bodice of her gown, as she gathered up every book she could carry, too flustered to worry about relevance. It pressed against her skin, a rustling reminder with every breath as she carried her foraged pile down to her laboratory. There, days ago, she had rearranged one corner into a comfortable nest of purple satin cushions with a new commonplace book for notes on her private investigation.

That she was using a new fountain pen of her own to make those notes was, of course, a matter of mere common sense. How else could she keep her writing tidy in this nest, without any flat surface on which to set an inkwell?

The fact that every time she uncapped her new ebonite pen, a flash of sense-memory overwhelmed her—his arms curving around her, his warm breath against her hair, the bergamot scent of his shaving cream against her skin—was an unfortunate side effect, no more.

Gods, but she loved the way he smelled!

She swallowed convulsively and flipped open the top book in her pile. The folded paper in her bodice shifted with her swallow.

“Shot through with glory.”

He had looked it, hadn’t he? His head tipped back, his body one long, beautiful line of arousal, given over completely to her mercy…

“ Fuck! ” Groaning, Saskia closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips hard against her head as if she could physically fight those scalding memories back into the tightly locked cabinet where they belonged.

Her sweet, gentle librarian deserved a lover every bit as gentle as himself—a lover who deserved to cherish a treasure like Fabian in her bed. Saskia had made a mess of far too much in her life and hurt too many people already. She would not add Fabian to that number! So she set her teeth together and forced herself to concentrate on the page before her.

It was frustratingly difficult to research any methods for battling a goddess. Oh, there were plenty of mentions of Elva in various magical tomes, but they were all devoted to extolling the power and glory of Her many and varied aspects. According to theologians and wizards alike, She was even personally responsible for the unleashing of wild magic into the world, when She had graciously allowed it to spill through Her cupped palms as a divine gift to humans and animals alike.

Saskia found it bitterly ironic, in that case, that She had been the patron goddess of Estarion since its founding. Oh, they might still officially worship Her there with fancy shrines and priestesses, but once Estarion had joined the Serafin Empire, that theoretical worship hadn’t stopped any of their archdukes from executing Imperial policy by stealing every magical child from their families, to be squeezed and restricted in Gilded Academies until there wasn’t a trace of wildness left in them.

Still, Saskia supposed that gods and goddesses were no more likely to be logical in Their affections than humans ever had been… and she wasn’t feeling particularly reasonable herself. So she scribbled notes through the night with her new fountain pen, and she didn’t give up her search until the sun began to rise, marking her deadline to return her borrowed books before her librarian could catch her at it.

Dragging herself out of sleep only a few hours later felt like clawing her way out of a deep, muddy pit. When Saskia finally managed to rise from bed and shuffle back downstairs to her laboratory, her eyelids felt thick and unwieldy, and her head spun with every step. Usually, her first cup of coffee did a better job of waking her, but this time, the coffee waiting outside her room had been surprisingly watery, with a bitter aftertaste that left her feeling even worse than before. Her feet carried her towards her work desk by sheer force of habit as the room swayed gently around her.

Once she arrived, she had to blink her bleary eyes several times before she could be certain of what she saw there.

Her laboratory notebook waited on the center of the desk, just as it had every other morning since Fabian had returned it, reassembled, the day after Winter’s Turning. All her shelves of carefully sealed jars and beakers waited in their own usual places on the shelves nearby without a single speck out of place.

But four long stalks of dried rosemary and thyme, tied together by a black ribbon, lay on the desk beside the notebook. She lifted them instinctively, holding them to her cheek and breathing in the spicy, pungent scents of comfort and safety.

Saskia’s eyes fell shut. As she breathed in that familiar blend of aromas, she found herself transported back to the warmth of Mrs. Haglitz’s cozy kitchen, in that isolated cottage where she’d been welcomed with open arms, treated like a child rather than a monster, and taught—with steady, unwavering patience—to give care and attention to every task and always do her very best.

Had these herbs actually come from Mrs. Haglitz’s kitchen in this castle? Why would she…?

Saskia’s thumb brushed across a small slip of paper hidden behind the black ribbon that bound the herbs together. Her eyes flashed open, her sleep-addled brain clearing in a sudden, desperate rush.

This slip of paper bore no message—only a single letter:

F.

The bottom dropped out of Saskia’s stomach, leaving her hopelessly untethered as she stood, gripping the herbs in her hand and staring at that small, neat signature.

How could Fabian possibly have known that she would love this particular scent combination?

And how in all the gods’ names was she meant to resist a man who offered her such comfort?

A light knock sounded on the laboratory door, and she startled. “Just a moment!” Her heartbeat tumbled into a gallop as she swiftly laid the herbs back onto the desk beside her notebook, exactly where she’d found them. Her free hand fluttered towards her hair. It was still loosely bound in its nighttime plait, but that restriction never lasted for long. Thick, flyaway strands burst out rebelliously in all directions, and…

No. She forced her fingers away before she could set any of it to rights. She was not setting out to seduce Fabian, no matter what her traitorous heart might desire. It didn’t matter if she looked a mess when he arrived. She should want to scare him off.

It should thrill her.

“Oh, come in, then!” she snarled, hating everything.

The door opened, and Morlokk stepped inside, bearing a small silver platter with a pot of coffee and an empty cup, and raising one eyebrow at her tone.

Saskia let out a deep, shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging. “Oh, Morlokk. It’s you.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.” He placed the platter on the shelf she kept empty for that purpose. “Mrs. Haglitz felt you might require more coffee than usual, after taking so little rest… again. ”

Saskia grimaced but reached for the pot anyway, driven by the low, persistent throbbing that had just begun in the back of her skull. “I haven’t been staying up late for my own entertainment, you know,” she muttered as she poured the coffee.

This was far more like it—thick and dark and rich, with a scent that nearly made her moan. Clearly, Mrs. Haglitz had made this pot herself.

“Mmm.” Morlokk’s tone reeked of skepticism. “I was, perhaps mistakenly, under the impression that you had hired a librarian to deal with any research that was necessary.”

Saskia fixed her gaze intently on the coffeepot as she set it back into place, careful not to let her sleep-clumsy fingers expose her more than the shadows under her eyes probably already had. “He has quite enough work to do already, trying to organize that mess my uncle left.”

“And you don’t ?”

Saskia might be willing to take a stand against the Serafin Empire and a literal goddess, but even she recognized some limits. Choosing common sense over pride, she held her tongue, took a long, life-giving sip, and didn’t try to argue the point.

Morlokk’s sigh, as he left the room, spoke volumes. Saskia did her best to ignore it, along with her increasingly distracting dizziness, as she buried herself in experimentation for the rest of the day. According to Ailana’s latest missive, the Archduke of Estarion had failed in his attempt to bribe Saskia’s neighbors into allowing his army safe passage into her kingdom. Thanks to the queens’ display of unity at Winter’s Turning, not one of her royal neighbors would dare to openly aid the Empire in any attack. Even so, Saskia wasn’t naive enough to think that the Archduke would give up on reclaiming Kitvaria as a client state. Nor would her uncle.

She had to be ready to defend her kingdom if—no, curse it, when her magical barrier inevitably failed, whether the Emperor overruled the arguments of his high priest and sent a squadron of Imperial Gilded Wizards to destroy it, or the Archduke and her uncle found a different way to sneak around it. Regardless, Saskia could not be taken off guard again, the way she had been as a careless child, thinking she and her family were safe.

But, gods, she really was exhausted. Even the arrival of another pot of coffee in the middle of the afternoon couldn’t cure the heaviness in her bones… especially as this pot, left without a word outside her laboratory door, had clearly been made by the same person who’d mucked up her first cup at breakfast. The taste of the watery brew was so bitter, it made her wince—but she swallowed it down anyway as fuel for her work.

As the clock ticked towards midnight, she moved slower and slower, until she finally found her eyes drifting irresistibly closed as she leaned against the wall with that damned bouquet of herbs somehow held once more in her right hand, wafting the too-tempting scents of comfort and peace and…

“ No! ” Saskia launched herself off the wall like a bird of prey taking flight, ignoring the protest in her aching back and the sickening spinning in her head.

She was responsible for the safety of this castle and this kingdom. She would not give in to physical weakness now.

Pulling off her apron with one hand, she stomped towards the stairs… and only realized halfway up the winding staircase that she was still holding the herbs.

“Gah!” She started to pivot, to return them to her laboratory. Her foot slipped on the ancient, uneven stair—and she caught herself just in time, panting with effort.

This is ridiculous. No, she hadn’t slept much for several days, but what of it? The world still shouldn’t be swimming this way before her eyes.

Perhaps, if she let herself fall asleep in her study nest for a single hour…

“… Still pretending there isn’t a kingdom outside that needs you?”

Mirjana’s imagined judgement rang in her ears, and Saskia groaned, shoving herself back upright.

She’d never wake up in a mere hour if she let herself sleep now—and she couldn’t afford to go running down and up stairs in her current condition.

Pressing her lips together, she reached over her shoulder to tuck the stalks into the back of her gown. They were far too scratchy to be comfortable, but that was good: the itchiness would keep her awake and alert through the rest of the journey.

Another few deep breaths, and the staircase nearly stopped spinning around her. She pressed both palms against the close walls to hold her steady.

Every step upwards was a milestone. Every breath hurt.

Should she really be this dizzy?

Focus on what matters.

She’d run through this castle half-blind with fear and panic once before, waiting every moment for her uncle’s guards and mages to capture her. She could walk at a steady pace through it now that she was mistress of the castle and the kingdom.

Running through the woods and tangling branches, chest burning, breath loud in her ears…

“… Little monster, we can’t kill you yet…”

Her parents’ blood…

Saskia staggered out of the staircase, into the foyer that led to

her library. Every footfall thudded an agonizing echo in her skull. What were all of her crows doing here, in this room, now? She’d forgotten to send them ahead of her to check that the library was empty. They should still be—

Crows fluttering around her inquisitively as she wakes in the woods, dirty and hungry and lost and so, so cold…

Gods, she was cold…

“Your Majesty?” That wasn’t the voice of a crow speaking to her. “Oskar brought me down to— Saskia ?”

She couldn’t see him through the crows in her past and her present and the blackness sweeping inexorably over her… but she felt the warmth of his gentle, familiar fingers as they closed around her arms, and she knew that she was finally, finally safe.

“Fabian,” she whispered, and she let the darkness take her.