CHAPTER EIGHT #3
They weren’t just sisters. They were twins.
Identical. Down to every last freckle on their cheeks and shoulders.
So when my aunt told me I was a monster, when she cursed me and screamed and railed, all I could see was my mother, my mother’s face, my mother’s disappointment.
I saw her blaming me and condemning me for her own death.
When my aunt looked at me with hatred and disdain, I saw my mother looking back at me.
And nothing had changed. It was exactly the look she was giving me now.
I’d felt like a monster so many times in my life, but never more so than under the gaze of my aunt.
The golden crown of the Witch Queen gleamed in the torchlight.
Immediately, I lowered my head before the tears fell.
I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t handle it, couldn’t do this.
I’d seen that crown on my mother’s head a thousand times.
A seven-pointed star made of rubies, styled like the symbol on Kavrir’s shield, lay in the center of the gold.
It used to gleam in the sunlight and sparkle in the firelight.
I’d spent hours staring at it. Staring at her.
But it wasn’t my mother’s honey-blonde hair beneath it, or her head carrying the crown’s weight.
“Her Majesty,” the Hermit announced, “Queen Perseyus Zakros of the Witches of Azeal.”
My chest tightened, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed to death.
The last time I’d seen my aunt, she’d screamed at me, her face tear-streaked, calling me a murderer, telling me I’d killed her sister.
She raged at me, yelling that she’d always known I would, that she’d told my mother years ago to get rid of me before I did.
Because Azete could not be reformed, because they were, at their core, insatiable predators, and one day I would be the death of her.
And I was.
“Niece,” she said, her voice cool and formal. “I thank you for returning.”
I remained in position, kneeling on the ground, my head lowered, my eyes screwed shut.
“Seven years,” she said. “Seven long years, and finally we are reunited.”
My breath came in sharp, hard gasps that I tried desperately to control as I stared at the strange black stones around her throne, the small bursts of blue flashes within each one.
I needed a focus, a way to ground myself.
I couldn’t look at her yet; I just couldn’t.
I didn’t want to see my mother’s likeness.
I didn’t want to see her aged by seven years she’d been denied.
See what would have been if her bones hadn’t grown cold.
“Nothing to say for yourself? You won’t even look at your queen?”
“I—” My voice shook. The black crystals seemed to darken, the flashes of blue gone.
“You will rise, and you will look upon me with the respect you know I am owed,” she ordered and took her seat on the makeshift throne, spreading out the skirts of her blue gown.
I dared to glance up. But not to her face.
Not yet. Instead I focused on the fabric of her dress, the way it crossed one shoulder and gathered at her waist by a belt of woven gold.
I stared at the dozen beaded tassels which dangled from her belt, and at the same beads that sealed the hem of her dress, sparkling against her sandaled feet.
I dared raise my eyes to the small arm cuffs shaped like vines covering her biceps, and to her hands where she held her golden stave with red rubies encrusted along the tip.
“Your Majesty,” I said, my heart thundering. “Queen Perseyus of the Witches of Azeal.” And then at last, I looked. My mother’s face. My mother’s blue eyes, her honey-blonde hair, and sharp cheekbones that were always pink. The most beautiful face in the world. But it wasn’t hers, not anymore.
My face heated, unshed tears burning behind my eyes.
“Seven years,” she said, her voice growing cold.
“Seven years I have grieved the loss of my sister. The loss of my twin.” She shook her head.
“Yet even longer I've grieved the loss of my niece. The one I thought I loved, the one I thought I knew. But that thing, the snake growing ever inside, took you from me. Like it took her.”
A painful knot formed in my throat. “I’d do anything to make it not so. I would have given my life for my mother’s, if I could,” I said, my voice already shaking. “If I could go back in time, knowing what would happen, I would, I would trade places with her in a heartbeat.”
“Pretty words. And yet no amount of wanting or pleading to the Gods could make that possible.”
My throat tightened. “I know that—it doesn’t mean that—” I gasped, barely able to breathe. “I live with it every day.”
The Hermit’s eyes narrowed, moving swiftly back and forth between my aunt and me.
“What you did to your mother was unforgivable,” she continued.
“Beyond even my judgment. You, of all people, know our laws. The greatest sin a witch can commit is the murder of another witch. The murder of a family member is unthinkable, but the murder of your queen, of your own mother … you should be rotting in the dungeons.”
“I didn’t …” I sputtered. I could still feel it though, my mother’s final feelings of love pouring into me, her body weakening as I grew stronger. The howls of the chimera cried out against the cries of her death. “I tried to stop it.”
“And yet you failed to remain in control,” she said.
“To be stronger than the beast that lives inside. The one that kills and preys upon those closest to you. I swear I can see it even now, watching me behind your eyes. It’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?
A matter of time before it happens again. ”
“No, it won’t,” I said, but I couldn’t promise that.
It was why I had to put a stop to my affair with Jaron.
Why even now, days after our first meeting, after almost kissing him—after feeling more want and desire than I’d thought possible in years—I was glad Brennan was out of my reach. Glad I’d never see him again.
“Can you not tell me that the Azete doesn’t wish to feed even now? That that part of you doesn’t hunger at all times? That if you don’t feed it, don’t keep it satiated, you will lose control?”
I stared down at my hands through blurred tears, my fingers tugging on each other, my cheeks heating with shame.
“That’s exactly what happens. Isn’t it?” she taunted. “Even now it is hungry.”
My jaw clenched, my eyes burning with unshed tears, but I nodded. “It is.”
She scoffed, “The dungeon is where you belong.”
“You mean to send me there now?” I asked, barely keeping my voice steady.
“It is the least of what you deserve before your death. Or perhaps, I shall send you to King Tirian for a boxing.”
“So you’ve decided my punishment?”
“Not just yet.” She leaned forward. “As the Queen of the Witches, it is my sacred duty to protect our people, to protect all of Azeal. And sometimes that means making a difficult decision for the greater good. Sometimes, in the name of salvation, justice for past crimes that Kavrir demands must wait to be enacted for the deeds of Batrir.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“For many years now,” she said, “we have been studying and preparing for the unfolding of a disturbing prophecy in the Book of Orsete. Many aspects of it have already come to pass. Soon there will be no stopping it from coming to completion. And when it does, our people will be faced with the coming of a Second Doom.”
I stilled. “A Second Doom?” I asked. “You mean—the oceans will swallow the land again? This land?” I’d read countless stories of what had happened all those years ago.
But my people had left our home before—before there could be any eyewitness accounts.
Before any survivors beyond the witchmoths and chimera came to the land.
The moment it happened, though, everyone knew.
Magic weakened immediately. And the first Azete was born.
“Much that happened last time, the sinking, the erosion of magic, and the death of the Gods will not be how this plays out. This time the land will be spared according to the prophecies. This Doom will not look like the first.” Her mouth tightened, her eyes narrowing on me.
“This one will be an attack on every living being. If it shall come to pass, the life of every witch will end, and the same evil that seeks to destroy us here will spread to those in Eskalon. It will spread beyond even those borders, across Eley’s continent. None shall be spared.”
None shall be spared? A hollow feeling spread through me.
A Doom that came for my people was terrible enough to stomach.
But one that reached Eskalon, too? King Tirian was my enemy.
And so was Jaron. But I would not see harm come to those who were innocent.
Like anywhere else, Eskalon was full of all kinds of people, good and bad, but not evil.
Far from it. Most were good—or at least, wanted to be, tried to the best of their abilities.
Especially my friends. Finlay, Thomas, Cecelia.
And Brennan … Brennan was in Eskalon. And he was good. So good.
His face formed in my mind as clear as day. His green eyes, his long dark lashes, and his bright, kind smile. For a second, I could feel him again, almost conjure his scent, the sound of his voice in my ear. My skin tingled. But I banished his image from my mind.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “Your Majesty,” I added, and lowered my head.
“Am I sure?” she asked, her voice low and calm. Too calm. “Am I sure? Do you think I would bring you here, that I would entertain even a minute of your presence, if I were not sure?” She took a breath. “How dare you question me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Your Majesty.” I shook my head. “I just—it’s a lot to take in. I’m doing my best to understand it all. But please, may I ask, who is the author of this prophecy?”