Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Maris looks at the girl before turning back to the hags. “Yes. This is Bronwyn Finn. I knew the little brat. I was forced to spend time with her after my parents sold me to the king. She used to call me sister. You think I wasn’t sure? You think I didn’t know the very Fae I was forced to live with for a year?”
Una’s matchstick hand comes out, a bony finger shaking. “No, Your Majesty. That’s why it worked so well. You saw what they wanted you to see.”
I step up. I’m not sure what Una is going on about. My niece sits there, her blank face staring up at me. She’s the only one I feel a bit of remorse about. Bronwyn was a sweet child, seemingly harmless. She wanted hugs and presents from my travels. She was a bit starved for affection from a father who was far too busy raising a warrior king.
But I didn’t hesitate when I heard the prophecy. I sent my soldiers to kill the one person in the world who could take my heart. And now she sits staring up at me with nonjudgmental eyes, and I wonder who the brat would have become. She would have been married off, perhaps to the Unseelie princes if the rumors were true. She’s better off dead.
“Speak plainly, hag. I tire of these riddles. We got rid of all the witches weeks before the coup. Maris sent the queen’s personal advisor away herself. There was no one with magic here in the palace. Surely you’re not saying that my queen was derelict in her duties.”
Maris frowns my way. “I did as I was asked. I identified the workers with magical abilities and either killed them or sent them from the palace on various errands and then had them butchered. I did my job, Your Majesty. I rather fear that perhaps the hags did not do theirs.”
Glannis shrugs, a rolling motion of her flesh. “We were unaware that there would be guests in the palace until after the battle. We were not allowed into these sanctified walls until the charms and wards against black magic were taken down.”
“Yes,” Maris says, latching on to the idea. “They weren’t taken down until after the battle. So there was no magic in the palace until after Bronwyn was dead.”
Una shakes her head. “No black magic, Your Majesty. But white magic was always permitted in the palace of light, encouraged even. The very marble of the palace reflects good intentions and strengthens spells. Spells of protection. Spells that could hide a true face.”
Glannis brings a knife to her arm. She stands over a pitcher that bubbles with some foamy fog. The hag slices into her own flesh, her expression never betraying the pain she must feel, if a hag can feel anything at all. I watch as black blood oozes from her veins like some noxious oil and spills into the pitcher. Glannis smiles, showing off blackened teeth.
“Fear not, Your Majesty.” Her laughter cackles, bouncing off the walls of the cave. “I feasted well for the last days. I am filled with much blood.”
I don’t betray my disgust. I simply watch as she squeezes her wrist until she’s satisfied. I understand what the hag means. The hags feast on the blood of traitors. Unlike vampires, they don’t take it directly from the bodies. They slit throats and drain the creatures and drink down what comes out. Glannis indulged a bit too much. If brownie and ogre blood does that to a figure, someone should put the bitch on a diet.
Still, I watch as Una chants over the pitcher. Witches, hags, priests. All the same with the bloody chanting. It bores me. I’ll outlaw chanting when the time comes. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes as the hags call out to some dark goddess with an unpronounceable name. Religion. I’ll definitely get rid of that.
Finally, Una pronounces the spell done and brings it to Bronwyn. She seems so solid, but it’s an illusion. If I stare hard enough, I can see a thin sliver of bone. It sits on the rock under the girl. Her form shimmers briefly, and the bone is solid. The hags insisted on keeping one small piece of each dead royal in an ornate box. They saved one of Bronwyn’s fingers. They hold a piece of the old queen’s skull. Only Seamus was spared. His body burned in the fire that raged.
Una nods before carrying the pitcher to the dead girl. “Reveal yourself.”
She tips the pitcher over. The ghostly fog spreads like water falling. It engulfs the girl, and as the fog clears, someone very different sits in her place.
This girl is thinner but of the same build. Her hair is shorter than Bronwyn’s and not done up in elaborate braids. Her much darker hair is pulled back in a single bun, and her face is a horrible blue. There are distinct handprints around the girl’s throat. She’s dressed in plain clothes, the type worn by those who once served the queen and her children.