Chapter 38 #2
I sucked in a breath as Enhart appeared before me, his figure obscured by the bars.
He was dressed in a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Several buttons were undone, leaving his pendant visible.
He bore no injuries of our battle on his skin, of course, but shadows lurked beneath his emerald eyes.
The same soldier who had escorted Dr. Murrows so abruptly from my chambers stumbled into view, his face bone white. The assuredness he had displayed in front of the physician wilted in the prince’s presence.
“Begging your pardon, Your Royal Highness,” he stammered. “But the council has been very clear. No one but the physician is permitted to visit the witch.”
The prince rounded on him, his eyes flashing. The soldier quivered like a leaf in the prince’s glare. “Does it look like I’m asking your permission?” Enhart snapped.
“Please, Your Royal Highness. I’m afraid I have to clear this with my captain.”
“Then run along to your captain and stop wasting my time.”
“I, er,” the guard began, his voice shaking. “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”
He disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived, his footsteps echoing off the flagstones as he fled down the corridor.
Enhart swiveled back to me, raking a hand through his hair. “I came as soon as I heard Dr. Murrows leave.”
My breath caught in my throat as he approached the bars, my eyes drifting traitorously to his lips. The memory of our previous encounter hovered over our heads like a storm cloud.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m alright, I think,” I said. “Where’s Mordric?”
“He’s not coming.”
Pain lanced through my chest. “Why not?”
“His council has strongly advised him to keep his distance from this area of the castle, given the events of last night.”
I balked. “Because of—” I faltered, gesturing to the empty space between us.
The prince fixed me with his familiar wry stare.
“As indecent as that was, it’s not particularly dangerous.
And we’re well aware that you were not yourself.
They’re more concerned that you nearly assassinated the Crown Prince of Valen.
” If I allowed myself, I would believe that the brief pall that flickered over his features was one of disappointment, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
“Oh. Right,” I murmured. I should have been relieved.
Amused, even, by the idea of anyone telling Mordric what to do.
But a worrisome thought lingered at the back of my mind—that Enhart must be grateful that it was Geraint, not me, who’d kissed him.
Except, I wasn’t certain it was. I should have confessed, but fear tied a knot in my tongue.
“That hurt, by the way,” continued Enhart.
“You seem well enough,” I replied shortly.
He smirked, draping an arm against the doorframe. “I am well. You make a pretty poor assassin as it turns out. Missed my heart by a mile.”
I rolled my eyes. Only he could get stabbed one day and joke about it the next. “I’m sorry,” I said.
He shrugged. “It’s not your fault. Apparently, it’s this Geraint person’s.”
The ghost of the witch’s voice whispered in my ears, sending a shiver down my spine. “He was the boy who helped me escape,” I explained. “He was the cloaked figure on the dais. The one who took my blood. I don’t understand,” I said. “My wards are strong. I should have been ready for this.”
“Blood is a powerful tool,” he replied. “Especially in the hands of a master witch. It’s impossible to guard yourself against possession if they have it.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I did,” he replied coolly. “Don’t you remember our conversation the night you returned to Hollybrook?”
I frowned. He had mentioned it, now that I thought about it. But I was angry and exhausted, and pettiness won out when I opened my mouth to respond. “No.”
“I said that by taking your blood, the witches might be able to possess your mind. Valnar Castle is protected from that kind of magic, but only to a certain point. When you fled the castle grounds to the closest area with no wards, well, not even the most learned witch in Valen would have been able to protect herself.”
Despair flooded me. It was my fault, then.
“Why did you come back here?” I whispered, plagued by guilt as images of his bloodied chest flashed behind my eyes.
It couldn’t have been for me; I was certain of that.
I recalled how he’d launched himself at Mordric without a second thought.
Fought his way past the guards who must have been ordered to let no one in, not even the prince.
My stomach churned as I tried to make sense of it all.
My gaze fell to his belt, where the alder dagger was tucked neatly into its sheath.
“I told you when we parted ways that I had a theory about the link between all of this. So I paid a visit to the blacksmith’s cellar.”
My chin snapped up. “You what?”
He held out his hand. Sitting in the center of his palm was a misshapen clay bead with a hole poked through its middle.
A thin B was etched into its surface. “When we first found the shrine, I noticed this in the basin at the center of the pentagram. It was part of a bracelet once. A bracelet that belonged to Ophelia.”
I balked.
“I thought I recognized it when we were in the cellar,” he continued, “which is why I took a piece. I would have said something to Mordric earlier, but after the way he reacted when he found us there, I thought it better not to press the matter.”
“How do you know it’s hers?”
“I didn’t at first. But Ophelia’s wife never left Valnar after her disappearance, so I paid her a visit. She confirmed that it came from a bracelet her son, Benji, made as a child.”
“So it couldn’t have been Ewan,” I thought aloud, my foggy brain slowly putting the pieces together. “He only came to Valnar five years ago.”
“Not Ewan alone, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you were under his control, Geraint said that he’d been trying to achieve his ends for years, which reminded me of our conversation in the blacksmith’s cellar. I think that he’s been possessing people in Valnar for decades to carry out murders on his behalf.”
I shivered, recalling the sensation of being manipulated like a marionette on a string, my jolting movements the same as Ewan’s on the night he attacked me. “Why not murder those people himself?” I whispered.
“I told you that Valnar was protected,” Enhart pointed out. “He likely couldn’t pass through the city walls on his own. He needed someone on the inside. A mortal like Ewan, who passed through the gates frequently running errands for the blacksmith, would have been an easy target.”
My stomach churned. I wondered if Ewan was aware of what he was doing when he’d killed Ruby and Alice. Or when he’d nearly killed me. For his sake, I hoped not. “It can’t be a coincidence that he went after two witches,” I mused aloud. “Do you think Ruby and Alice were witches, too?”
“I don’t know about Alice, but you knew Ruby, didn’t you?”
My heart ached as I recalled the girl’s long brown braids and zeal for gossip. “If she was a witch, then she hid her powers just like I did.” I groaned, massaging my temples. “Why would Geraint do this?” I asked finally. “What does it mean?”
Enhart’s face fell. “Now that, I cannot answer. I’m sorry.”
I buried my head in my hands. So much bloodshed. “And then he tried to make me kill you. Why?”
He raised a shoulder. “Perhaps he simply felt like it. Or perhaps he didn’t think the King would spare you if you succeeded. Then he would have had his fifth witch, killed for whatever ends he intended. The final piece of the pentagram.”
“I—” I faltered as my ears picked up the heavy tread of boots in the corridor.
I backed away from the bars, my heartbeat racing as the Master at Arms appeared.
He was flanked by a dozen soldiers armed with swords and crossbows.
Sir Raltisse was dressed in full armor. A ridiculous display, as if I might unveil a broadsword and thwack him through the bars of my cage.
The company bowed before the prince, the shining metal plates of their armor clinking together in a chorus.
“The king’s council has requested your presence in the throne room,” Sir Raltisse announced, eyeing me warily. “For sentencing.”