Page 57 of The Fearless Witch

My step faltered, and I stopped, staring at her with an open mouth. Her good eye stared back, half closed, as if she was drifting away again.

The prophecy. The prophecy said I would have the power to extend the grove to the entire continent if I wanted to. To turn this land into a home for the Fae, to claim it for our own once and forever. I had refused to do that, to take so much away from all the other races, but maybe… just maybe…

“Myra,” I whispered, tightening my arms around her. “I have a task for you.”

“Your H-H-Highness?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not sure… I can…”

“Please.” I closed my eyes. “Please, accept this one.” When I looked at her again, she was smiling—or I thought she was, her face was too swollen and bruised to tell for sure. She nodded. “Hold on. Don’t die on me. I will save you.”

The words rolled easily off my tongue this time, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she whispered, tightening her fingers on my blood-soaked tunic. “As you wish.”

I brought her closer to my chest, holding tightly as I broke into a run. I didn’t have to ask the forest to assist me this time. As if sensing my urgent need, it made way for me. Within minutes, I was back in the garden behind Roman’s house, looking around frantically.

The earth here was rich and full of magic, some leaking from the secondary ward that protected this place, some born from the herbs and the care this place received. This… this would have to do.

“What…” Myra started, but I hushed her as I walked around, searching for the right spot. I didn’t want it to be too close to the building, but I needed it to be inside the garden. Just a small section would do. Enough for one. Maybe two.

Moving past a fountain of a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair, I stopped by a tall, overhanging tree that seemed to be bent over with age. Its trunk had twisted around itself, the bark turning gray in places. I set Myra down as gently as I could, wincing alongside her when she hissed in pain.

“Stay here,” I told her before circling the tree. Despite the smell of rot and withering leaves, it was healthy. Alive. “Good.” I put my hand on the bark, closing my eyes as I reached for its heart.

I could only hope this would work. There was no way to tell what would happen to me if it did or didn’t. But I knew that I’d never forgive myself if I let Myra die in my arms like my brother did. Myra, who had been like a little sister to me; Myra, who had been the only friend who was never afraid to speak her mind; Myra, who had been tortured and mutilated again—this time, because of me.

“Please,” I whispered as I sank to my knees, digging my other hand into the earth. I called to it, begged it, fed it with magic I had borrowed from the grove. I didn’t take anything this time, I just offered more and more until I heard its voice.

‘As you wish.’

My magic was siphoned from me violently, but there was no pain. It flowed with ease, pouring into the tree as its roots and branches started to shudder. The air turned heavy and sweet like honey, the ground trembling while the weak, sparse grass disappeared beneath stalks so vibrant that I had to blink several times to make sure I was seeing properly.

I looked around, eyes going wide as more plants broke the surface, rising and spreading with staggering speed. The flowers and herbs that fell within the range of the grove twisted and changed, their petals turning brighter, bigger, more aromatic. Magic crackled in the air and with another jerk, the earth pulled the last of my magic out, leaving me heaving breathlessly.

This one did hurt. It felt like someone had thrust an iron dagger into my stomach and was slowly cutting me open. Yet, I saw no blood, no wound, no trace. Just a strange type of weakness that made me tremble like a newborn foal.

‘Will this kill me?’ I thought, not even realizing I was talking to the tree.

‘No,’ it replied, its voice changing to something more familiar, something ancient yet new. Something magical. ‘You’re the one that was promised. The earth bends to your will.’

The words echoed, not just in my mind, but in the air around us, then all of a sudden, the connection between us was severed. Delicious air filled my lungs as if I had been allowed a breath for the first time in hours. The weakness remained, but with my knees in the grass and magic filling the space, it was like I was back in the grove.

And in a way, I was.

A sniffle on the other side of the tree reminded me why I was doing this—who I was doing this for. I crawled around the massive trunk, stopping next to Myra’s body. She had managed to sit up straighter, her eye wide with awe. She looked even paler, the ground beneath soaked in her blood.

“The prophecy was true,” she whispered, meeting my gaze. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but this time, they were not of pain or fear, I was sure of it. She reached for me and I took her hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m glad I was… alive to witness this… Your Highness,” she said, choking on a sob. “You are truly… the best of us. May you…”

“You are not going to die,” I said sharply, touching her cheek. The tree started to untwist its body, forming a hollow right behind Myra. “You are going to sleep. And when you’re healed, you’re going to come out. I’m not losing another person I love, Myra.”

Her lips quivered, and she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered as the hole behind her grew large enough for her to fall through. Roots shot up, wrapping around her carefully and easing her into the trunk. “Be safe until I… return.”

“I will,” I forced a smile to my face, holding her gaze as the tree took her, twisting its body again until it returned to its original position. I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. She’d be fine. She had to be fine. The earth would heal her just like it did when Celeste returned her, just like it did for many of our people who were hurt outside our borders. She’d…

“M-M-Mr. Malakai?” a voice spoke from behind me and I jumped, eyes going wide in surprise. I hadn’t even realized anyone else was around until I spotted Chester standing just outside the line where the vibrant colors of the grove met their dull counterparts in the human world.

He was wearing a pair of gardening gloves, one hand holding a bucket filled with fertilizer, and for once, he looked utterly bewildered. Getting to my feet, I dusted my clothes, only to find out they were beyond salvaging.

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