Page 119 of The Witch and His Crow

I looked towards the corners of the room, where the dull light couldn’t reach, half expecting glowing red eyes to flash in return. But they didn’t. I then glanced towards the fireplace, wondering if, even in this nightmare, Caym was still hiding the heartbroken little boy I had once been.

‘Yes,’ the voice hissed. ‘Yes, you do. I’ve seen into your mind, I’ve seen into your desires. And there is one thing you have wanted so badly, so terribly, since this night that it has shaped the very outline of your life.’

I hung my head over my mother’s body, holding her so close that I longed to imprint her on my very skin. My soul. ‘I’ve already answered you, beast. I want them back.’

‘Lies,’ it replied. ‘You’ve had many a wish, but never that. Not once did you hope for such a thing, when you have been driven by the thirst of vengeance.’

‘Stop,’ I cried out, rocking back and forth, my mother still in my lap. ‘Stop playing games.’

‘Think.’ I sensed the anger in the creature’s voice as though it belonged to me. Maybe it did. Perhaps this creature was the very same beast I’d felt bubbling inside of me all my life. The instinct that warmed when I was faced with a Witch Hunter, and sated when I took their lives.

‘I want my parents…’

‘Wrong again, Hector. If that was the case you would have spent your life searching for a way to get them back. You know, if you looked hard enough, you would have discovered that there was a way. There is a power that can grant such things. But instead you followed the darkness inside of you, and you searched for?—’

The answer came to me, thick and fast. I practically had the word spelled out to me, letter by letter, as if the creature whispered it into my ear. Truth was, it was the beast inside of me that revealed it.

‘Revenge,’ I spat, bubbling with fury, no longer able to control my inner demons.

I felt the darkness release a breath. It was long and tempered, singing with relief. ‘Correct. Your one greatest wish is to kill the soul that took the lives of your parents. So this is what I give you. Your reward. Take it or not, the choice is yours. Choose wisely, Hector Briar.’

The front door my home creaked opened slowly. I heard it then, the slow methodical footsteps of a man walking into thehallway. Father Tomin Hopkin. It was him. Just the knowledge that I was finally going to face the man who killed my parents made me relax, made breathing easier.

The viper in my stomach was no longer waking slowly, but bolt and alert, ready to strike.

I looked down, expecting to see the beautiful,deadface of my mother. But instead, I found an athame in my hand. The one I’d taken from Arwyn. I caught my reflection in the flat face of the bloodied blade. And I was smiling. Smiling, knowing that I was finally going to get the one thing I desired most in the world.

This was the Rewarding. My reward.

Regardless if this was a Trial, real or not, it didn’t matter. Because the blade felt real in my hand. I wondered if Tomin’s blood would be warm when I plunged the athame into his chest over and over, just as he did with my mother.

I studied the dark corridor ahead of me, buzzing with anticipation. Slowly, the darkness parted, allowing the man to stand before me. I registered the bright blue eyes, the head of short brown hair. The alluring face of evil. I sprung forwards and took my reward.

I knew I failed the trial as the thud of the athame drove into Tomin’s chest. I was blinded by rage and desire, not caring for details as I made sure the blade disappeared down to the hilt. My focus was on my target, on making sure I didn’t miss the heart. So it was only when I was satisfied I pierced it, that I looked up into the face of the man who destroyed my life.

The face didn’t belong to Father Tomin.

‘No,’ I breathed as the darkness swelled and the laughter began. ‘No. No. No. No!’

It was Arwyn.

My ears filled with the rushing of blood, but that didn’t stop me from hearing the toll of the bell, signalling the end of theRewarding. And yet all I cared about was seeing the face of Arwyn, his mouth agape, my name etched into his lips.

I stumbled away from him, hands shaking. And as the conjuration fell away, all I knew for a fact was that the blood dribbling over my knuckles was, in fact, warm.

Verywarm.Veryreal.

Reality slammed into me, as hard and fast as regret. The trial placed me back in the real world, in the centre of the great hall of the castle, Arwyn was knelt before me, athame buried in his heart, my name incapable of leaving his mouth.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Arwyn looked down longingly at the blade in his chest. His hands were held up, hovering inches beside the handle of the athame buried between his ribs. He shook violently. His dark brow pinched in confusion as if he couldn’t quite make out what was wrong. Shocked, almost, at the reality.

I stumbled back and watched, helpless and just as confused. It had never been Father Tomin who murdered my mother. It had been the child he’d brought with him. The young boy my juvenile mind had first believed to be Salem. My mind replayed the words, taunting me, as I stared down at Arwyn.

‘I’m looking, father.’

‘And what do you see?’

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