The Silver Witch.
“Good morrow, just Niamh,” Bronwyn called as she entered my bedchamber.
I sat upright, clutching the sheets to my chest, relieved that Fitzroy had disappeared in the dead of the night. Bronwyn was followed by a few other rag-clad goblinettes carrying bundles of dark fabric, which I assumed were my garments for the day.
Bronwyn opened the curtains. “Looks like there’s a tempest over Lyonesse.” She paused to gaze out the window.
“I wonder who’s upset Regina,” I remarked, suspecting she was the source of the bad weather.
“Queen Regina,” Bronwyn corrected briskly. “Don’t forget her title—she can be ruthless when she feels like her queenship’s being questioned.”
I nodded; I’d seen glimpses of Regina’s hotheadedness.
After a brief sniff of the air, Bronwyn asked, “Is there someone else in here?”
I shook my head. “No, just me.”
The other goblinettes exchanged fleeting looks, as if they could smell Fitzroy’s lingering scent in the chamber.
Bronwyn raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Queen Regina has requested all dress in black today,” she stated.
As she busied herself organizing the garments, I asked, “And why’s that?”
“It’s not my place to question orders,” she replied, handing me a chemise.
“You can always ask me anything,” I said, accepting my undergarment from her.
Bronwyn gave me a warm smile. “I know—you’re different from the others.”
Once I was dressed, I wandered the castle in search of Fitzroy, wanting to ask why he hadn’t stayed the night.
From the balcony, I spotted him in the courtyard below.
He paced back and forth along the stone path—lost in thought.
Light broke through the trees, casting a soft glow on his captivating face.
Just the sight of Fitzroy warmed me, as if he were my sun.
After what had transpired the night before, I viewed him through a different lens—a more favorable one.
It was impossible not to feel closer to him after we’d been as intimate as two living things could be.
Fitzroy noticed me watching him from above. Without hesitation, he walked over, looking skyward as I leaned over the railings to gaze down at him.
“Good morrow,” he called up.
Fitzroy gave me his smoldering smile, and for the first time, it didn’t irk me. Instead, I found it charming. I wanted to ask why he’d left in the middle of the night, but I held my tongue, wary of eavesdroppers.
“Come,” he ordered, beckoning to me. “I’ve some terrible news.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, worrying he might tell me he regretted last night.
“Come down here.”
I hurried along the balcony, hastily skipping down the stairwell.
I didn’t slow my pace until I was within arm’s reach of Fitzroy.
He rested a hand on my waist, pulling me close to press a gentle peck on my cheek—something he’d never done before, yet I liked it.
That small sign of affection eased my worries.
Fitzroy exhaled sharply. “Wolver’s dead.”
My relief was short-lived.
“Wha—how?”
“In the early hours of this morning, I was awakened by frantic footsteps outside your chamber. I feared the castle was under siege, so I went to investigate. On my way, I crossed paths with Billy. He told me that late last night, after we’d retired to your bedchamber, Wolver had gone on a patrol of the fortress.
He flew too close to Cambas, and both he and his wyvern were shot down by archers. ”
“Regina must be distraught,” I said, feeling a pang of pain in my chest for her loss. “Have you spoken with her?”
Fitzroy shook his head. “She’s summoned all of her courtiers to the Great Hall. I was waiting for you to wake so we could brave it together.”
I took his arm, and we hesitantly walked toward the hall.
The oaken doors were propped open, revealing the scenes inside.
Hundreds of candles were scattered across the floor, with flowers—poppies, bluebells, and daffodils—woven throughout the flames.
Regina, draped in a black cloak, knelt on the tiles, hunched over something swaddled in cloth.
At her side was Elizebeth, flicking through a grimoire resting in her lap.
She recited various incantations, her fingers splayed as she held her palms toward the object Regina cradled.
As we entered, my gaze caught on a pointy-eared man I didn’t recognize, carefully sorting through vials of shimmering liquid.
Elizebeth sighed. “Herla,” she called to the elf beside her. “Did you find the elixir I asked for?”
“No,” Herla replied, his thick brows pinched with worry. “Not that I think any potion will help. In all my time as a healer, I’ve never known a remedy to revive someone from the dead.”
Herla picked up a bundle of smoldering lavender, wafting the curling wisps of smoke over what looked like tufts of gray fur.
That was when it dawned on me. Wolver’s lifeless body lay amid the blooms and candles, like a memorial.
On the far side of the vigil, Isobel and Billy both knelt in prayer.
Isobel lifted her gaze to meet mine, and her pointed ears twitched quickly—as if trying to communicate an unspoken message.
Mabina kept her distance, watching the scenes of despair from the fireplace.
Her penetrating stare was unwavering, even as we walked through the hall.
“Come,” Fitzroy whispered, ushering me to the far side to kneel beside Billy.
“Awake, please. Sleep no more,” Regina murmured over Wolver’s body. “How could I not have foreseen this?” She looked upward, her tear-streaked face blotched and glistening with grief. “I’m a servant to the gods, and yet they didn’t forewarn me of this travesty.”
Regina appeared frailer than before, as if grief had aged her overnight.
Her guttural cries rang through the hall. Recoiling at the harrowing display, I prayed for a miracle.
“Elizebeth,” Billy called, “there must be an incantation in the grimoire that can shift the sands of time?”
“I’ve tried every spell,” Elizebeth stated, still thumbing through the book. “I fear it cannot be undone.”
“Wesan gan.” Be gone, Regina snapped with a flick of her wrist, sending Elizebeth hurtling through the air.
She flew backward until colliding with the stone wall beside the fireplace, collapsing into a heap on the hearth. No one ran to aid her—not even Mabina, who was within reach of the whimpering witch.
Fear flooded me, filling my lungs until I could only take short, shallow gasps. It felt like drowning—like I’d been aboard a ship sailing toward promised lands, only for it to capsize before reaching the shore.
Now I was treading dangerous waters.
I reached for Fitzroy, clutching at his arm, hoping his reassuring touch might anchor me before I was set adrift.
He took my hand, his thumb slowly smoothing my palm. Though his face didn’t betray any emotion, I felt small tremors in his fingertips.
Fitzroy was scared, and that utterly terrified me.
An excruciating groan echoed through the hall as Elizebeth heaved herself onto all fours, speckling the straw beneath her in blood.
Her auburn hair draped like a veil across her face, but I didn’t need to see her expression to grasp the depth of her injuries—each labored breath rattled in her chest, as though she were made of broken glass.
In a single movement, she rose to her unsteady feet and strode back toward the shrine. Holding her bleeding head high, she knelt beside Isobel while managing to maintain her composure.
“My brother is to blame for this,” Regina hissed as she stroked Wolver’s emotionless face.
“That crown’s my gods-given birthright—my duty—the reason I was born.
” Her voice grew louder with every word.
“I’m aware that my own father saw me as a fragile and feeble woman.
That’s why he chose my brother as his heir instead of me.
He failed to see that I’ve the belly and the brains of a king—a king of Lyonesse, no less. ”
All eyes followed the hysterical Regina as she stood.
Her wild, violet gaze pierced through the curtain of silver hair streaked across her face.
With one trembling hand on the hilt of her sword, she paced the hall—seething with rage.
“These mortal tyrants should fear my wrath,” she muttered, her face twisting into a malevolent snarl I’d never seen her wear.
Approaching Fitzroy, Regina unsheathed her sword, holding the pointy tip toward him.
“Nephew,” she said, still edging the blade closer. “How long will it take for you to prepare your army?”
Fitzroy neither cowered nor looked threatened by the weapon she held dangerously close to his throat.
“A few days,” he replied calmly.
Regina nodded, lowering her sword. “You’ve tonight, tomorrow, and then I want your men ready for war.”
“Your bidding’s my honor, Your Highness,” Fitzroy replied with a bow.
“Tell my brother I’m coming not only for his crown, but for the head that wrongfully sits beneath it.”
Fitzroy bowed again. “Of course, Your High—”
“Don’t call me Your Highness,” Regina snapped, her voice cracking in deranged fury.
In one swift movement, Regina lifted her sword, wedging the blade beneath Fitzroy’s chiseled jaw—pressing it hard enough to blanch his flesh.
“Call me your Queen!” she demanded, spit flying from her foaming mouth.
Fitzroy met Regina’s manic gaze—her pupils now blown out, engulfing the violet entirely, leaving nothing but round pits of darkness.
A heavy silence fell upon the hall; each second dragged unbearably.
It felt like someone was wringing out my stomach—twisting and knotting it.
Internally, I begged Fitzroy to swallow his pride. I prayed he’d speak the words to spare his head.
As tears brimmed in my eyes, fearing his stubbornness would be his undoing, Fitzroy cleared his throat.
“Of course, my Queen,” he conceded, a warm smile following his words.
Regina retracted her sword from Fitzroy’s throat, triggering a raspy sigh to slip from my mouth.
Overcome with relief, tears trickled down my cheeks.
Before today, I’d noticed frays to Regina’s edges—her stoic sensibility and brutal pragmatism, which I’d mistaken for levelheadedness.