Chapter Nine
Lark
It feels as though we stand there for an eternity, waiting for the witch to answer. She does not come to the door herself, of course. Instead, after a few minutes, it swings noiselessly open and reveals nothing but darkness within.
Darkness and warmth, and a hint of magic that tickles my nose, so I am the first to cross the threshold, Grant close on my heels.
Dante hesitates. I curse myself for not thinking of his needs earlier, only I do not believe that he thought much of them either. Perhaps I can get something from the witch once I have my power returned to me. It is some way back to court, and I want him healthy and whole once we arrive.
“This is cool,” Grant mutters, and Dante makes a questioning sound. Most types of fae can see well enough in the dark, but not in the way vampires can. I doubt Dante can see much of anything at all.
“Grant,” I say quietly.
He scurries back over, sticking close to Dante, and murmurs an apology. I do not believe he would touch anything on purpose—perhaps he would not at all—but we cannot risk it.
We step out of the entryway and light streams from under one of the other doors. That one, too, swings open as we approach, and the witch is sitting in an armchair by the fire, face turned towards the flames.
Grant’s magic flares, though not enough that I believe he feels the need to defend us. I do not like that I can feel it. I told him not to offend her, and using magic in her house, without her permission—
She turns her head, the fire sparking in her black eyes and playing over the sharp lines of her face.
I do not know her age. The witch has been here for longer than I have been alive, though calling her a witch is a misnomer.
Powerful as she is, she is still fae. And she is powerful.
Her skills far outstrip those of any fae I have ever known.
“Please,” she says, gesturing at a sofa just across from her, “take a seat.”
I move first, taking the seat closest to her, which does not seem to surprise her at all. Grant takes the other end, expression as awed as it was when he first saw Cassian today, and Dante drops between us, his thigh pressing up against mine.
While the witch studies us, I study her. She wears no glamour, and her pale skin has a faint, shimmering sheen to it. Dark curls escape from her loose braid when she turns her head to look at Grant, then Dante. She is high fae, just as I am. Her power circles us, probing at what we have.
“Your Highness,” she says finally, inclining her head in my direction. “I did not expect you to bring companions with you.”
“They are seeking something.”
“Someone,” she corrects. Her dark eyes move back to Dante. “What are your names?”
Dante looks straight at me, doubt clouding his expression. I hesitate. We fae keep our true names fiercely hidden, but even the names our parents give us can be used against us. For humans—
“I will not harm either of them,” she says. “I know why you are here, after all.”
She can no more lie than I can, so I nod.
“I’m Dante.”
“Grant.”
The witch nods. “Good. We so rarely get visitors from your realm anymore. Welcome to my home.”
Dante nods, eyes down and respectful, but Grant offers her a smile. “It’s nice. I like it.”
My shoulders tense, but the witch only chuckles. Does she know what Grant is? She must have some idea. Whatever she knows, it does not seem to bother her. “Thank you,” she says, smoothing out her skirts. “You would do well to hide your nature, vampire.”
Well, that answers that question. Grant’s shoulders jump, but the trepidation that crosses Dante’s face does not flicker across Grant’s at all. He leans in instead. “I can do that?”
“You have fae magic. We deal in bonds and transformation, as I am sure you well know.”
Grant narrows his eyes in thought. Dante presses against me for a second before he opens his mouth, too. “Why do they call you a witch?”
Her dark eyes slide to him and I clench my hands in my lap. I cannot defend him. I will try—of course I will try—but I will only fail.
“I have never asked,” she says with a shrug.
“But you’re fae.”
“Yes.”
“High fae?” Grant asks, though the contemplative sweep of his eyes tells me he knows the answer to his question already.
“Of course.” The witch’s lips twitch in a smile and my heart hammers against my ribcage. “But asking after me is not why you are all here.”
“It is not,” I say, desperate to have her attention on me instead of them. “I came to retrieve my power.”
“When you came to me and asked me to take it, you were clear on the terms.”
“Yes.”
“You said you would no longer require it. That I could use it as I wished. You told me what you would sacrifice should you ever ask for it to be returned.”
What I would sacrifice? My mouth moves without thought. “Yes.”
She stares at me, drumming the fingers of one hand on the arm of her chair. I do my best to hold her gaze, aware from the way my skin prickles that I am still wearing my glamour, that I likely should have dropped it the moment I crossed the threshold.
She looks at Dante again. “Tell me about your friend.”
“My—” Dante looks at me, questioning, then at her again. “My friend?”
“The one you have come to retrieve.”
His mouth forms her name, but it does not fall from his lips. “She—She’s my best friend. We’ve been friends since we were in school.”
“Many years?” The witch smiles when Dante nods. “It is difficult to tell with you humans.”
“About twenty, yeah.”
“She has been by your side the entire time?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I spent a summer with her pack when we were eleven. And the summer after that, when she was twelve, and she—She came to stay with me and my mums. They bought her a whole new wardrobe.” Dante smiles faintly, apparently lost in a memory.
“Well, Mamma insisted. It’s a cliché, but she doesn’t mind that. ”
The witch nods, as though she understands where I cannot, and impotent rage flares in my chest. Whose fault is it that I have not come to know Dante better, other than my own?
And now I may never get that chance. She has not thrown us out of her house.
My powers are still on the table, a deal we can strike. I only fear what I will pay for them.
“Please,” I say. “We—”
“I will speak with you when I am ready.” The witch’s voice is icy, and her power, deeply entwined with every atom of this cottage, not to mention the forest that surrounds it, ripples and flares.
Grant grabs Dante’s arm. His magic is far less powerful in comparison, but he is fast to react, drawing power up between her and the three of us.
Her magic soothes and gentles. She smiles at Grant. “Apologies. I did not intend to frighten you, vampire. Either of you.”
Dante gives her a flat look. “Just Lark?”
My back stiffens, but she takes no offence to that. Her smile merely widens, her lack of an answer a response in and of itself.
“Do you wish they had taken you instead of her?” she asks after a moment.
Dante sucks in a breath, and next to him, Grant goes entirely still.
We both know the answer, of course. Not that I want to cheapen the gesture, but I doubt there is a member of their pack who would not offer themselves up in her stead.
“Of course,” Dante says.
“Perhaps if your soulbond had told you the truth, they would have.”
I bite back a growl.
Dante shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that,” he says, and there is a surprising sharpness to his voice. “It’s not Lark’s fault they took her. They shouldn’t have done it.”
I stare at him. I did not expect him to blame me, not exactly, but I would not be surprised if he did. They would not have taken her if I had not crossed over.
“They should not,” the witch says with a nod. She sits back in her chair again, and the flames in the fireplace leap a little higher. “I like the two of you. I suppose I am feeling generous today.”
Grant perks up. “You are?”
She chuckles. “I have even more to teach you,” she says, but the smile falls from her face when she looks at me. “Still, you are asking for a lot.”
“Please,” Dante murmurs. He leans forwards, hands clasped as he rests his elbows on his knees. “We’ve got no other way to get her back. We can’t do it without his power.”
“You’d be surprised,” the witch murmurs. Her eyes never leave my face. “Do you remember what you promised?”
The hair on my arms stands on end. I feel as though my back is against a wall. The memory is strangely hazy, but I remember the words that fell from my lips, even if I cannot recall what made me want to say them. “Yes.”
“Tell them.”
When I glance at Dante, he is watching me with obvious confusion and only a little impatience. He does not understand why I would hesitate. What is there to lose?
“If I retrieve my magic, then I am to fulfil my fated destiny. If I do not…”
The witch stares at me, unblinking. She will give me no quarter.
“If I do not, then my soulbond and I will perish.”
Grant gets to his feet. I do not believe he even knows he has done it. Dante stares at me, astounded. “I don’t… Why would you agree to that?”
“I had no intention of returning.”
“O-okay. So, can’t we do that? I mean—” His face flushes and he swallows with a shake of his head. “I know you didn’t tell me about the bond and we, we could—”
“It is not that simple.” I ache for it to be that simple. If my fate was to cement the bond with my soulbond and live forever with him by my side, then there would not be an issue. It would also not prevent me, in my weakest moments, from returning to ask for my magic back.
“How is it not?”
“My fate is to sit on the throne. To remain here. Now that my parents and Ronan are all dead… That is why they took her.” Either way, I am condemned, though I have enough sense about me not to say that aloud.
Dante puts his face in his hands.
“I—You cannot remain if that happens,” I say to him softly. “You would be without protection. You cannot wear a crown. It would kill you.”
I say the last words to the witch, who stares impassively back at me. Grant sits silent, fairly contemplative.
“That is the deal we struck. We cannot change that. It is your choice as to what you would like to do.”
“How long do we have?” Grant asks.
“There is no need to head for the court until the suns rise. You have until then.”
She rises from her chair and leaves the room, though she leaves the door she exits through slightly ajar. The smell of herbs is powerful, permeating the space. I look at Dante.
“I will not kill you to save your friend.”
He lifts his head, looking at me in disbelief. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes sharp, though tiredness and dehydration are making his face look pinched.
“That’s not your choice, and that’s not what she was offering. Or what you apparently agreed to! Who said I was going to stay here? Who said—”
He cuts himself off, cheeks flushing further. My shoulders stiffen.
“Who said what?”
Dante makes a short, frustrated sound. “Who said I wanted that anyway? Wanted you?”
The words hit me hard, as does the way he angrily holds my gaze. I understand that he would choose Ophelia before me, considering the blunder I have clearly made in not revealing who we are to one another.
But I am certain that he did want me, once. That he is lying, even if that is difficult for me to detect.
Dante shakes his head and gets to his feet. “Dante,” Grant calls as he stalks out of the room, but he does not move to get up. He lets out a sigh instead.
The front door opens and closes again. I leap to my feet.
“Leave him,” Grant says, and I whirl on him.
“You do not—”
His magic flares, leaving me acutely aware of how powerless I am. “You need to think about what you’re going to do. You know what he wants you to do. There’s no point in arguing about it. He’s not going to budge.”
He will not, and despite everything, that proof of his loyalty warms my chest. He showed that same loyalty to me a few minutes ago when he challenged the witch, didn’t he?
Regardless, he might still blame me. He could have lied to her.
I sigh and collapse back on the sofa, while Grant gets to his feet.
He does not leave the room; he wanders around instead, inspecting every nook and cranny.
I watch him without really seeing him, turning the confusing feelings over in my chest. I am angry.
Furious, even, that yes, I have perhaps ruined my own chances with Dante, but more that I never wanted the throne, was never raised to endure the crown, and yet here I am, faced with a choice that will give me nothing I truly want.
Fulfil my destiny, indeed. I rub my hands over my face and push my hair back over my shoulders.
I know as well as the witch does which choice I will make. I simply do not know if I will survive it.