Page 66 of When Wishes Bleed

“After tonight, only five ladies will be invited to remain at the palace. I appreciate each and every one of you taking time out of your lives and spending it with me. That being said, if you find a raspberry on your dessert plate, you are welcome to stay. I’d like to get to know you better in the coming days.”

Mira grabbed my hand. “You are so getting a raspberry.”

I rolled my eyes and bent to whisper in her ear. “You know I’m staying. He already said he needed me here.”

Her gray eyes met mine and she gave my hand a squeeze through the glove. “You can’t believe it’s the only reason, Sable.”

It was.

It had to be.

I stared at my fingers and pictured the stain that lurked beneath the silken gloves, feeling pinpricks of pain from the contact with her. Mira sucked in a breath. “Did I make it worse?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head. “It tingles.”

“What does?” Brecan asked. He looked to my fisted hands. “You’re defying Fate, Sable?” His voice was loud enough to draw attention from the group from Twelve.

I swatted him. “Shut. Up. I’m not defying him. I’ll explain later.”

His eyes narrowed on my lips, but I stared him down. They weren’t blue. I wasn’t sure what this was, but it was no punishment from Fate.

Dinner was served. My stomach still roiled over the details of the evening. What if the witch had poisoned the whole bottle, and someone else drank from the bitter wine? What if they blamed illness or death on me, or on Brecan and Mira?

“Are you well?” Brecan asked. “You’re suddenly pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

“Paler than usual, then,” he corrected with a smirk that didn’t meet his pale purple eyes. The girl from Eight caught his eye, blushing and looking away when Brecan didn’t avert his.

I stifled a laugh. “You’re popular with the invitees, I see.”

“Unfortunately,” he replied, straightening his back and toying with his silverware.

The conversations from the surrounding tables were about the girls’ chances of receiving a raspberry. I wondered who came up with the idea to use such a tart fruit to indicate who was staying, and a dessert devoid of it for those who would spend tomorrow morning packing their things and leaving the palace behind them.

The girl from Twelve was literally in tears. She trembled, unable to control her nerves. Her eyes caught mine and she scowled before turning to her escorts for comfort.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was so bad about her life in Twelve that she would have this sort of reaction about returning to it. Tauren saw that she was in distress. And while I could tell he felt empathy for her, he was right not to have chosen her. If this miniscule amount of pressure was more than she could handle, she would never handle the decisions that being a Queen required.

Steaming plates of food were unveiled in front of us. The three of us checked our plates by inhaling the aromas lifting off them. Mira clutched my forearm, staring into the steam. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “A message. I need a clearer picture. Excuse me,” she stood, the backs of her knees scooting her chair out. Mira hurried from the room, returning with a troubled and grim expression – one I’d never seen on her normally cheerful face.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

Mira looked from Brecan, who was leaning forward to listen to what she said, to me. “Priestess Ela is dying.”

My brows furrowed, and a tumult of emotions washed over me. The woman’s unabashed hatred of me, the way she opposed my trip here, and how she’d aged so much in hours the day of the Equinox all flooded my mind.

“How is that possible?” Brecan softly whispered. “I mean, I know what Wayra said, about her power waning when yours came to its fullness, but why would it kill her?”

“It isn’t killing her. It’s just her time. How long has she held time’s hands? Witches aren’t immortal,” I replied.

“I know that, but Ela – she seemed youthful until…”

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