Page 35 of A Petal in the Crown

“What do you want with her?” Lea sheathed her dagger and straightened from where she leaned against the wall. Eudora's answering smile was taunting, and she flipped her long white hair behind her shoulders.

“I don't think that information was part of our deal.” Eudora strode forward, her movements far too graceful for the supposed age of her body. “But I’m feeling kind today. Show her to me, and I'll consider telling you.”

Lea'schin lifted slightly, defiance etched to the tight lines around her eyes. “Or maybe I'll kill you now and be done with it,” Lea said, her eyes flashing black. The two women stared each other down, and Gray watched, hesitating. Lea couldn't kill Eudora. Surely she knew that. Not if they wanted Tanad’s help with this war. They needed his forces. His army provided even more men and women than their own for the cause.

Was this a tactic to get information? Or was that darkness inside her truly threatening to kill the witch and destroy their relationship with Tanad, the best ally they had.

“Considering you weren't exactly forthright with your deal with Gray—you know, thatlittlesacrifice that you failed to mention would cause us to lose our mate bond and both of our lives—I think you can forgive me for wanting a little something out of this exchange, too.”

Eudora narrowed her eyes, her smile faltering. “The terms of the deal were set. My end was fulfilled. Let me have her.”

“No.” Lea walked forward with slow, deliberate steps, pulling her sword from its sheath and wrapping her fingers tightly around the hilt. “If she was capable of helping the Black King with the Lonely Death, then she’s capable of far more. Her magic combined with yours could destroy the world. So I'll ask one more time. Why do you want her? Who is she?”

Eudora’s smile twisted cruelly, and Gray’s stomach dropped, absolutely certain that whatever was about to come out of her mouth was going to hurt Lea somehow.

“Who she is is another question altogether, my sweet girl. You should've just asked that to begin with,” Eudora said with mock sympathy.

“Enough with the games,” Gray snapped, his shadows rolling across the floor. He was tired of the witch and her puzzles and half answers.

“So testy, all of you.” Eudora rolled her eyes, unbothered. She looked down at her hands, brushing a smudge off her ring finger.

“Get the fuck on with it, Eudora,” Gray demanded. His heart pounded, his fingers tensing at his sides. “Or I’ll—”

“As to why I want her,” Eudora interrupted, as if Gray hadn’t been speaking at all, “I will tell you once I see proof that you did, in fact, retrieve who I asked for without harming her. As a kindness, and a show of good faith that I am, in fact, not the horrible bitch you and your purple-haired friend believe me to be. But as far as who she is, well, I'm surprised you don't know. The resemblance is uncanny, don't you think, Evander?”

Gray pictured the frail witch in his mind. Her scarred, disfigured face was so mutilated, it would be impossible to tell if there was a resemblance to anyone beneath all those scars. Lea tensed beside him, her jaw going tight. Her eyes cut to his, searching, and he shook his head, confirming that he wasn’t sure what Eudora was talking about, either.

“You still don't know?” Eudora’s eyes lit up with delight, and Gray braced himself for whatever she was about to say, preparing for the chaos or despair her confession would cause.

Eudora grinned, a sickly sweet smile that made Gray’s blood run cold. “Why Azalea, I’m shocked. You don't even recognize your own birth mother?”

Chapter 22

Emma

“Again,” Thomas urged. “Harder this time.”

Emma sighed. She could feel Thomas’s frustration radiating off him like a sunburn—could feel that he knew he was being hard on her, maybe a littletoohard.

She couldn’t blame him. Lifewashard. War was harder. And it was coming again, whether Emma was prepared or not.

Thomas had changed after the battle in Bearswillow. He hadn’t said as much, but she had a feeling part of the shift inside him came from having to watch as Emma nearly didn’t survive being tethered to the other side.

He had a desperation about him now that hadn’t been there before. His work on their weapons was relentless. Hours and hours every day, pouring his time and his magic into daggers and swords and shields. He’d finished one for Janelle—a small hand dagger similar to Emma’s. She hadn’t asked what power it held. It seemed too personal, but she was grateful all the same that her friend was protected.

But along with that gratitude was churning worry for Thomas. He didn't sleep. Couldn’t seem to rest. He barely even ate. Not unless Emma brought him something, and even then it was hurried and left unfinished.

He only took breaks to train her—like now. The dagger Thomas had created especially for Emma was firmly in her hand, and just as he’d asked of her, she always kept it with her. But it appeared the dagger had only been a small part of his plan to protect her. Even with a weapon, he still wanted her to know how to defend herself.

The notion seemed to be consuming his every waking thought, and the constant terror radiating from his chest made Emma want to cry. To feel that much worry… It was a burden she desperately wanted to help lighten. So even though she still had absolutely no intention of taking anyone's life, she’d agreed to his fighting lessons.

Emma stabbed her dagger into the makeshift punching bag hanging from the ceiling, the one Thomas had set up in her room when she'd been too nervous to train in the main hall with the soldiers. He hadn’t argued the point, but instead, had shown up at her door with a length of rope and a twenty-pound bag of flour, ready to train.

The blade barely poked in, a tiny puff of white dissipating into the air, and Thomas sighed. A mix of failure and grief churned in Emma’s stomach, and her face fell.

“Hey,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I know it’s hard. But you’re doing great, and your form is good. You just need more strength behind it. You won't even puncture through clothing with a stab like that.”

“I can't do it,” Emma finally admitted, dropping her arms to her sides in exhaustion. “I'm trying, I really am, but before I push the blade in I imagine it's a person, and my arm just stops. It's like my body won't let me.”

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