34. Morgan
The storm rages around us,and lightning arcs overhead, but it doesn’t come near us. The wind howls like a beast in pain, yet it can’t touch us. It’s like we’re moving through another world, a bubble of calm in the midst of fury, the path a never-ending ribbon of light guiding us to safety.
Blaze’s grip tightens with every step, his trust in me both a weight and a lifeline. It’s like when we crossed that bridge, but reversed. I trusted my life with him then, and he’s trusting his to me now.
He shouldn’t, I think, but I push the thought from my mind, continuing forward.
I don’t look back at him as we walk. I can’t. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking. All I can do is focus on getting us out of here.
Eventually, the path leads us to the end of the valley.
As we step off the glowing trail, the storm calms, as if it never existed, and the path’s magic dissipates, the light fading away into the night.
The crystal palace built into the mountain is so close now. All we have to do is walk around the bend in the valley, and what we’re looking for will be there.
The Rose Garden.
The one from Alpine mythology where we’ll surely find the Witch Langwerda.
Blaze’s hand falls from mine, and when I turn to him, the look on his face stops me cold.
His eyes, usually fiery, are daggers of ice stabbing my heart.
My blood freezes. I wish I could sink into the ground and disappear into the Valley of the Vanished. It would be way better than standing here with him looking at me like that.
I messed up. Big time.
“You’re a blood witch.” His voice is low and controlled, but there’s an undercurrent of betrayal that cuts deeper than a blade ever could.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Blaze, I?—“
“You lied to me.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I say, even though it kind of was.
“All this time.” He starts pacing, running his fingers through his hair so it gets that wild look I love so much.
When he faces me again, a heat wave ripples over his skin, as if he’s quelling a furnace that’s stirring in his blood.
“And last night, too,” he says. “It was a lie. All of it.”
There’s venom in his voice when he says those final words.
The worst part?
I deserve it.
Because yes, it was my right to keep my secret for as long as I wanted. But to allow last night to happen without revealing the truth about myself first? To initiate the intimacy between us when there was so much more I needed to share?
It was wrong. I knew it then, and I know it now.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, even though it isn’t anywhere close to enough. “It’s just… my sisters are blood witches, too. This isn’t just my secret—it’s our secret. And you and I just met. I had no idea what you wanted with me. I didn’t even know there were any blood witches other than me and my sisters before I met you. I’m a clairvoyant, and I had absolutely no idea this was coming.”
“Wait,” he says. “You’re a what?”
“A clairvoyant,” I repeat. “I can see the future. Kind of. When it wants me to see it. And it’s not usually super clear. But I can use my blood to scry for it.”
He’s staring at me like I’m an alien that landed on Earth.
I don’t blame him. That was a lot of information at once.
“That’s… a lot,” he finally says, echoing my thoughts.
“I know.”
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Yes,” I jump at the opening. “I wanted to. Eventually. I just didn’t know when…”
I can’t bring myself to continue.
Because he’s looking at me like he hates me.
“Telling me before you slept with me would have been a safe bet,” he says, and his words might as well be knives to my chest.
“I know,” I repeat, and I glance at the ground, quickly forcing myself to meet his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”
It’s not good enough. But we’re standing in the middle of the Valley of the Vanished, so close to the Witch Langwerda’s cottage that I can taste it. This isn’t exactly the right place and time for a confrontation and explanation about my blood witch abilities.
“Look,” I finally say, since he’s not exactly jumping to accept my apology here. “I understand that you’re angry with me. You have a right to be angry with me. But can we talk about this later? At a better time?”
Given the death glares he’s continuing to give me, I brace myself for a blast of fire heading my way.
I won’t hurt him.
But I will defend myself if I have to.
“Fine.” He scoffs, stepping back and reining in the magic rippling over his skin. “Later.”
“Thanks.” I turn to look at the crystal palace, and then, it hits me again.
The wind.
We should be out of the storm. It’s only a breeze, if anything.
Still, it whispers in my ears, begging me to listen.
He hates you, it says. He’ll never forgive you for this. He’ll kill you for what you are.
I march forward, unable to look at Blaze… and unable to block out the wind.
Because it’s right. He does hate me. I hear it in the way he’s talking to me—the way he’s looking at me. And I don’t know if he’ll ever find it in his heart to forgive me.
Before I realize what’s happening, my hand inches to the dagger tucked into my waistband.
That’s right, the wind goads. Stop fighting it. Do it.
I’m shaking. It’s like I’m not actually here—like I’m watching us walking toward the crystal palace, seeing this happen to someone else and not to me.
But I can’t let myself get distracted. Soon, we’ll be at the witch’s cottage. From there, hopefully, we’ll get the quill.
The Crimson Quill.
The reminder of our mission hits me all at once.
We need the quill. We need Blaze’s magic to get the potion out of Amber’s body. If we don’t help her, the Shadow Lord could take over the city.
If he does, it will give the Blood Coven more power. If the Blood Coven has more power, they’ll be more likely to fully raise Ambrogio. And if that happens…
No, I fight against it. I can’t hurt him. I need him.
“Morgan?” Blaze asks, pulling me out of the wind’s spell.
“What?” I look at him, holding my breath, disappointed to see he looks as angry as before.
“You’re reaching for your dagger.”
I glance down, finding my hand an inch away from pulling it out of my weapons belt.
“Oh,” I say, yanking my arm back to my side and scrambling for an explanation—one that doesn’t involve confessing that the wind is speaking to me, urging me to kill him. “It doesn’t hurt to be too on guard around here. We never know what’s going to jump out at us next. It’s the Valley of the Vanished, after all.”
“Right.” He nods, although he doesn’t look convinced.
He suspects me.
Hopefully the wind isn’t talking to him, too. I can’t imagine what awful things it would be telling him by this point.
“Sorry,” I say again, although at this point, I’m not sure which exact thing I’m apologizing for.
Everything and anything, probably.
“Sure,” he says.
A non-answer. But it’ll have to be enough for now.
“Come on.” I push the wind’s whispers out of my mind, and we continue making our way in tense silence toward the bend behind the crystal palace, where the Rose Garden hopefully awaits.