Chapter Fifty-Five Ayleth #2
“The princess’s heart is the key to your ultimate power,” Mother continues. “With her death, you seal our ancestress’s vengeance. I suspect you’re aware of that, on some level. After all, you’ve contemplated taking her heart before.”
A chill shivers down my spine. How long has she been watching me?
“That was only because—”
“It was the prophecy,” Mother interrupts, the crown glaring red in the firelight. “Pulling you toward your destiny. You resisted it then, but you cannot resist it any longer. Either you are her death, or she is yours. There is no other path.”
Mother slips something from the folds of her cloak.
A silver blade. Recognition jolts through me at the sight of the jewels embedded in its handle.
It’s the knife of Ascension. The last time I held it was when I faced the flames of my own Ascension fire, oblivious to the destiny that lay in front of me.
A destiny that may not yet be complete. But it could be.
“Go ahead,” Mother says. “Finish this. Be the witch I know you are.”
She offers me the knife. I glimpse a sliver of my own reflection on its blade.
Take it, Shade rasps, his shadows dancing around him. Join us.
That hungry instinct rears again, urging me to obey.
Return to the shadows. Give myself entirely over to Malum and the world I built.
But would it be enough? If I take Blodwyn’s heart, seal the prophecy, I might be the most powerful witch living, but who would be beside me?
Mother, perhaps. And Shade. But not Jacquetta.
Not Blodwyn. I watch the sleeping princess, the poison webbing through her veins.
I used to consider her almost like my sister.
Like Rhea. Why had I stopped? What would my own sister want me to do now?
I press my thumb into the faint triangle on my palm. Rhea’s mark. And the answer forms immediately. Perhaps I cannot save Mother, or even myself, but there’s one person I can help.
Without giving myself a moment to hesitate, I snatch up the knife, tighten my grip on the hilt, and drive it into Mother’s chest.
She howls, foul-smelling blood spurting from the wound. Shade and the shadows swarm around Mother, shoving me backward. My former Huntsman advances on me, his crimson eyes glinting with fury. Nox leaps between us, his massive teeth bared.
“So,” Mother gasps out. “You would destroy your own blood. Reject the power I offer you. And for what? A mortal princess? Or is it Nerissa’s brat again?”
“You’re not my blood,” I tell her, lifting my chin. “Not anymore. And I care about them more than I ever cared about you.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel their truth.
I loved Mother once. And perhaps she loved me, too.
But when she couldn’t mold me into the witch she desired, she hated what she saw.
And that hatred rooted deep inside her. Poisoned her.
And I realize now more than ever that the witch I used to know—the one who sat beside me after a nightmare or pressed the flowers I brought her from the forest—is gone. All that remains is a monster.
Mother holds my gaze. Cold comprehension settles over her expression.
“Fine,” she spits. “If you will not claim your place, I will.”
She retrieves the knife from where it fell and stalks toward Blodwyn.
“Leave her alone!” I shout.
Nox bounds forward, but Shade blocks him. Mother is steps away from Blodwyn now, her arm raised to—
The fire explodes, sparks raining outward.
The ground quakes, loose stones tumbling down from the higher floors.
Several figures vault over the low walls of the cloister.
My breath catches—it’s Jacquetta. The fire must have been her doing.
And it was enough to sever the shadows’ hold on the witches.
Sindony and the rest of the prisoners waste no time, spells flying in all directions.
I fumble for the vial in my pocket and sprint back to Blodwyn.
“Just hang on,” I tell the princess, lifting the antidote to her lips. “Just—”
A shadow, sharp as a whip, lashes out of nowhere. It srikes my hand hard enough that I cry out, dropping the vial.
“Leave her,” Mother orders.
She marches toward me, the black stain of blood on her chest widening by the second.
Mother’s shadows mass and I brace myself for their blow.
But then something huge and blazing lifts out of the fire and hurtles toward us.
I yelp and duck, shielding Blodwyn as a flaming log soars over us.
When it passes, I look up to discover a pair of frantic blue eyes meeting mine.
“Jacquetta! How did you—”
“Help her,” she says, jerking her chin at Blodwyn. “I’ll handle your mother.”
“You can’t! The last time—”
“I allowed Cassandra to frighten me away once before,” Jacquetta says, her jaw setting. “I’m not going to do it again. Ever.”
Emotion tightens in my chest. And I want to tell her how grateful I am. How sorry I am for everything that’s happened in the past. But then I see Mother rise to her feet, her expression murderous.
“Hurry, Ayleth!” Jacquetta urges.
Then she summons another spell and charges back into the fighting.
Every instinct screams at me to go after her.
Protect her. But I will myself to focus.
I scoop up the vial, then curse as I discover that most of the antidote has spilled out.
But it’s better than nothing. My hand shaking, I pour the few remaining drops into Blodwyn’s mouth.
“Come on,” I whisper, squeezing her hands. “I know you’re still there.”
She doesn’t respond. I can’t determine if she’s breathing. I tip the bottle to her lips again, but it’s all gone now.
“You can’t leave us,” I beg. “Not yet.”
Because this can’t be how it ends. Blodwyn is so cold, though. The poison in her veins is everywhere. Just like with Rhea.
Rhea.
A wild thought takes flight in my mind. I turn my palm up, studying the faded lines that make up my sister’s mark.
That’s like us. Rhea said. We’ll always find our way back to each other.
It can’t work, I think. Blodwyn isn’t even a witch and the mark certainly didn’t save Rhea.
But I have to try something. The knife of Ascension is nearby.
I grapple for it, then drag the blade along the lines of the triangle on my palm.
Gently as I can, I do the same to Blodwyn.
Her blood shines crimson against her pale skin. And then I press our palms together.
One heartbeat. Two.
And then the world explodes in white.