Page 101 of Heart of the Summer Queen

In the next instant, I hear the beating of wings. But not from any crow. This rhythm is akin to one of Elaric’s own winged steeds.

I clutch the hilt of my sword, every muscle in my body stiffening.

At long last, Isidore becomes visible through the gap in the wall. Air shudders around her as her steed descends to the square. Silken robes billow around her like a storm, as does her mane of silver hair.

As she lands, she pays no heed to the folk around her, disturbing two statues. One trembles, barely righting itself. The other topples to the ground, shattering against the cobblestones with the macabre sound of death.

I didn’t get a good look of the statue before they fell. I don’t know whether they were a man or a woman, whether they were young or old. But I do know that even if we slay Isidore, their heart will never beat again. They are lost to this world, and when the curse surrounding Eruweth fades, they will be dearly missed by whomever they have left behind.

Regret wracks through me. This is the consequence of choosing such a busy part of the city. I squeeze my eyes shut, reminding myself that we had limited choices on where to confront Isidore. This is the only way we can save this kingdom and the thousands of people ensnared in this wicked spell.

All concern for the shattered statue vanishes as Isidore dismounts, and I get a closer look at her. While I imagined her to be ancient like Belinda, her flawless features suggest she must be in her mid-thirties.

Though this witch appears breathtakingly beautiful, she is also terrifying, especially as her gaze finds Elaric and her lips curl into an ugly smirk. No amount of beauty can compensate for the cruelty carved into her expression. Nor does it dampen the frightening power which effuses from her. Even tucked away behind the tavern’s door, I can’t help but shiver.

“You,” Isidore hisses. Every hair on the nape of my neck bristles. “You dare trespass in my domain?” Her whisper is faint against the brewing storm.

While I flinch inwardly, Elaric remains composed before her glare. “It has been three centuries.”

“Three centuries do not erase what you stole from me,” she snarls, bitterness laced within. I know the pain coursing through her too well—the same agony which festered within me for three long years.

But while I may understand her pain, we are not the same. All this started because her sister sought to destroy Avella with her flames, whereas Dalia was innocent. I pursued Elaric’s blood, never the citizens of our kingdom. This cycle of hatred originates from Isidore’s magic, from her seeking to lessen her own pain by inflicting it upon Elaric.

Now only her death can end it.

“You are a fool if you came here to beg me to release you from your curse,” Isidore says, sneering. “The magic binding youis tied to the land itself, and even I do not possess the ability to release you from it. Although there is nothing in this world which could convince me to do that.”

“I did not come here for myself,” Elaric says, “but for my people. They too suffer from this power. How can I rule a kingdom when I can scarcely meet my council without freezing them all in their seats?”

A grating laugh escapes Isidore, like the scrape of a blade over glass. “Then renounce your crown and allow another to rule in your stead. Have these centuries failed to instruct you in the lesson of humility?”

My attention flickers between Elaric and Isidore. I must move as soon as I can, or else when an opportunity to strike arises, I won’t be close enough. But right now, it’s far too risky. Isidore is partly turned away from me, and there’s a chance she will notice my movement. One wrong move will doom our entire plan. I must wait until she’s more distracted.

“Humility?” Elaric repeats, arms sweeping around the market square. “You dare lecture me on the virtue of humility when you have seized this kingdom as your own?”

“The two of us are not alike.” She raises her head, nose creasing as she looks down at him. “Humility is the place of a human, not a witch.”

Silence falls. Their gazes lock, neither yielding an inch of ground.

Finally, Elaric says, “I will not continue like this.”

“You speak as if you have a choice.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “Your only salvation from this curse is death. But perhaps that is why you came here.”

Elaric clenches his fists.

A cruel smile carves onto her lips. “After spending all these years searching for your Summer Queen, you could not find her, no matter how many young women you stole away. Perhaps yourpalace has turned into the streets of Eruweth City, serving as a permanent reminder of the curse flowing through your veins. Of the monster you have become.”

Blood roars louder in my ears. Isidore is utterly without remorse for those she hurts. She relishes in their misery. This woman embodies wickedness through and through, and it’s all I can do not to rush from my hiding place and drive my sword through her chest. To wipe her existence from this world.

But I can’t act on my hatred. Doing so will unravel all our plans. I must control my emotions and use them as a source of strength rather than a weakness.

“I see the self-loathing behind your eyes,” Isidore says, her musical voice dripping with malice, “and the longing to end this nightmare. Fate may tarry three centuries more before she deigns to send your precious Summer Queen. Such a bleak reality must burden you day after day.”

I exhale slowly, smothering my fury with a blanket of calm.

Isidore tilts her head, studying Elaric’s stoic expression with amusement. “Have you perhaps put a blade to your heart before, I wonder? Desperate for the respite which has escaped you for so long?”

Revulsion almost shatters my resolve. Yet Elaric reveals nothing, steadfast as granite beneath her relentless taunts.

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