Page 110 of When Wishes Bleed

I didn’t want to bind her; I needed Cyril dead. I wouldn’t unleash her on an unwitting generation once my power faded with my death unless it was the only way, and I could hold her in stasis until I figured out a way to end her for good.

“There’s more to her message…” the Son of Night dangled, like a carrot.

“What else is there?”

“She plans to burn a witch every hour on the hour until you and your entourage return to Thirteen.”

With his words, the smoky scent that hung in the air turned to ashes in my mouth.

“What you’re smelling is the burning of the Priestesses and Priest right now. The stench will only become stronger, the smoke more invasive, as time passes. Ethne whispered some sort of protection spell before Cyril lit them on fire, so the flames haven’t consumed their bodies yet, but I suggest you hurry.”

There was no hope. I felt the wind die and saw the stillness of the sea.

The thought of the horrors they’d endured turned my stomach.

“Tell me how to sneak back into the Sector. I have to enter without her knowing.”

“Spirit yourself in. I think she believes you’ll arrive in a royal carriage. She’s hoping for cameras and fanfare. Spoil her plans.”

“You could be lying,” I accused him.

He gave a half-smile. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

I swallowed. “Show me what?”

“What’s happening in the Center.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it. Things might be as bad as I imagine them, or they might be worse.

“What is happening in the Center?” Brecan asked as he appeared behind me, Mira standing opposite him, flanking me.

Arron swiped his hand across the air, making dark clouds form. Within them, a murky scene emerged. Ethne, Bay, and Wayra were burning. Their arms were wrenched behind their backs and their chins drooped against their chests. More stakes were being erected surrounding the three to which they were tied.

“They’re clearly dead – why keep the fire going?” Brecan fumed.

“At first I thought Cyril was preserving them to inflict fear, or to manipulate and deter those who might challenge her authority,” Arron mused. “But, as I told Sable, Bay and Wayra were unable to fight back using their affinities once Cyril used fire and dark magic to nullify their gifts. However, she could not prevent Ethne from using hers, and Ethne whispered an incantation before the flame took hold of her. It was her last stand against Cyril.”

Ethne’s incantation was a final stand, all they could do before she killed them. I could almost imagine Ethne trying to keep the flames away from Bay and Wayra. Used to the flame, she would’ve been the last to die. But the horror of being alive but powerless to stop someone from harming the people you loved, and the horror of knowing you would die by your own affinity, was too much.

“Why are the witches huddled in the middle of the Center?” I asked.

“Cyril won’t step near it. She hovers on the Circle’s borders, afraid to get too close to the spot of soil that bound her for so long. She literally shudders at the sight of it.”

“We could use that fear to our advantage,” Mira suggested, iron resolve in her tone.

Brecan shifted his weight. “We need the element of surprise. If we try to stroll into Thirteen, we’ll end up like the dove or the gull.”

“I could get you in,” Arron offered casually.

Brecan answered quickly and without hesitation. “No.”

“Who are you to speak for the Daughter of Fate?” Arron inquired, as if he actually wanted to know. Brecan was my best friend in The Gallows, and here, he was more than an escort. He was the voice of reason.

“You don’t know him any better than you do your mother, Sable,” Brecan proposed sagely. “This could be a trap. We’ll find another way in.”

Could we find a better way, though?

As I called on Fate to help me choose, I closed my eyes. Can I trust Arron, Son of Night?

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