Page 81 of The Queen's Box

Willow blinked. “He’ll . . . eat it?”

“He will, and it will nourish him, just as the meat you eat nourishes you.” Severine tilted her head. “It’s the cycle of life, Willow. I won’t sanitize it for you. You don’t need me to.”

Willow thought of Teddy, the wan little boy in Hemridge who was allergic to wheat.

She thought of Teddy’s mother, who was willing to push past the church pastor’s rules of right and wrong. She thought of Teddy’s father, who wasn’t. In her mind, she saw a small white coffin being lowered into the ground.

Willow gave the bird to Severine. Her damp palm felt strangely empty.

“Serrin can’t live on nectar and dewdrops,” Severine said, rising with the bird cradled to her chest. “You understand.”

Willow thought of rabbit stew and fried trout. “I do,” she said.

Severine twisted the bird’s neck. There was a small sound, quick and clean, and the body stilled.

“Nothing is wasted,” Severine said. “The world takes and gives and takes again.”

Willow stared at the murky pond. She had drawn life from that water. She had pulled forth a trembling bird, and now that bird would become part of something bigger.

She had done what had been asked of her—and it mattered.Shemattered.

“Tomorrow, you will draw forth something more,” Severine said.

Willow, still kneeling in the mud, gave a nod.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

AFTERWARD, AS A reward, Willow was washed and dressed and bundled into a lacquered green carriage shaped like a seedpod, its spoked wheels wrapped in flowering vines that somehow turned without snapping. It was drawn by two creatures that Willow thought were deer. Then one of them turned its head, revealing a row of five black eyes stacked like stones. The creature snorted, and for a breathless moment, Willow heard again the bird’s last ragged gasp in the dark of the pond.

Willow’s tour guide was already seated inside, legs crossed neatly, gloves butter-yellow and spotless. “Ah,” he said, glancing up from a parchment scroll. “Willow Braselton. Right on time. I’m Harrow. I’ll be leading your Hospitality Tour.”

He looked like a man who had never perspired in his life. Silver hair tied at the nape, a waistcoat patterned with constellations, a mouth made for spitting out popcorn kernels.

“Hospitality?” Willow echoed, settling in across from him.

“You’re a guest of the realm,” Harrow said. “Our queen takes hospitality seriously.”

The carriage rattled forward, passing charming cottages with charming gardens where vines curled into trellises shaped like lyres and bells. In one yard, a pair of giant snails pulled a little boy in a cart. The boy had golden curls and laughed and laughed, kicking his chubby legs with delight. He reminded Willowof baby Lark from her vision—baby Lark, who’d been taken from Wrenna and renamed Mercy. Willow’s mother, prone to migraines and unwilling to fight for anything, even Willow.

Residents paused their sweeping and pruning to bow as the carriage passed—most with warmth but a few with what looked to Willow like nervous obligation, their smiles a little too fixed.

Willow leaned toward Harrow. “Is there a governing council? Or is Severine the sole ruler?”

“Oh, we have advisers,” Harrow said. “Delightful creatures. Wise, too. But Severine has the final word in all matters of state. As she should.”

“Yes, well, sure,” Willow said. She hesitated, knowing that she needed to learn all she could about this realm. If Serrin was going to rule Eryth—with Willow at his side—she had a duty to be informed.

She didn’t know what questions to ask, really. Cole would. Cole would have opinions and ideas and suggestions on how to make things better. But Cole wasn’t here.

She cleared her throat and asked Harrow how laws in Eryth were passed, how leadership was decided, and when, exactly, Serrin would be expected to take the throne.

Harrow answered them all with the easy fluency of someone who had explained things many times before without ever quite explaining anything. “We are led by wisdom and consensus,” he said. “The people adore the prince, of course. But the queen will remain our guiding light.”

“Forever?”

“Until her light fades, which will be never.”

“Never? So then Serrin will never be king?”

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