Page 105 of The Prisoner's Throne
It would destroy Wren to do that. The magic would unmakeheralong with the land.
“We can all die together,” Oak says. “In one grand, glorious final act of stupidity fit for a ballad.”
Wren’s hands tremble, and she presses them together to conceal it. He notices how purple her lips have gone. The way her skin looks pale and mottled, such that even the blue color of it cannot hide that something is wrong.
Unmaking the sword and the arrows must have cost her—and he was uncertain if that was all she’d done since the hunt.
“I was the first of the hags,” Bogdana returns, her voice like the crash of waves. “The most powerful of the witches. My voice is the howl of the wind, my hair the lashing rain, my nails the hot strike of lightning that rends flesh from bone. When I gave Mab a portion of my power, it came with a price. I wanted my child to have a place among the Courtly Folk, to sit on a throne and wear a crown. But that’s not what happened.” Bogdana pauses. “I was tricked by a queen once. I will not be tricked again.”
“Mab is gone,” Oak says, trying to reason with her. Hoping that he can find the real words, thetruewords, ones that will be persuasive because they are right. “You’re still here. And you have Wren again. You’re the one with everything to lose now and nothing to—”
“Quiet, boy!” Bogdana says. “Do not try your power on me.”
“It lets me know what you want.” He glances at Wren. “I don’t need to charm you to tell you this isn’t the way to get it.”
Bogdana laughs. “And if Wren wants her throne? Will you stand aside as she plans to take it? Will you help? Let your sister die to prove this love you claim to have for her?” She turns to Jude. “And you? Bluff all you want, but you have only four Folk behind you—half of them probably contemplating turning on you. And a brother whose loyalty is in question.
“Surely your people do not want to face three times as many soldiers, all of whom can shoot at will while you return no volley. I would greatly reward boldness. Should one of them kill the King of Elfhame—”
“What if I give you Oak’s head instead of Cardan’s?” Jude asks suddenly.
The prince turns toward his sister. She can’t really mean that. But Jude’s eyes are cold, and the knife in her hand is very sharp.
“And why would I accept such a poor offer?” asks the storm hag. “We had him for months. We could have executed him anytime we wanted. I could have killed him on Insmoor less than an hour ago. Besides, wasn’t it you who reminded me how much easier to establish Wren as the new High Queen if she marries your heir?”
“If Oak were dead, that would thin the Greenbriar line by half,” says Jude. “Mere chance might do the rest. Cardan was hurt—he might not survive the night. I schemed my way to the throne, despite being mortal. Make me your ally instead of him. I am the better bet. I know Elfhame politics, and I am mercenary enough to make practical choices.”
He knows she’s not serious about her offer. But that doesn’t mean she’s not serious about wanting to kill him.
How foolish Oak has been, making himself seem like Cardan’s enemy. How can he prove to Jude now, here, that he has always been on her side? That he never plotted with Randalin. That he was trying to catch the conspirators so that something like this could never happen.
But how could Jude ever guess what Oak was planning to do when she has no idea what he’s already done?
“Oak wouldn’t fight you,” Wren says.
Bogdana’s eyes glitter. “Oh, I think he will. What if I make the prince this bargain—win, and I will let Wren keep you as a pet. I will let you live. I’ll even let you marry her, if she so desires.”
“That’s very generous,” he says. “Since Wren can already marry whomsoever she wants.”
“Not if you’re dead,” says Bogdana.
“You want me to fight my own sister?” he asks, voice unsteady.
“I very much do.” Bogdana’s lips pull into a grim, awful smile. “High Queen, I will not merely accept the prince’s head, struck off by one of your soldiers. Just as I was tricked into murdering my own kin, it will be justice to see you kill yours. But I will spare the one of you who kills the other. Let the High Queen abdicate her throne, and I won’t chase her. She may return to the mortal world and live out the brief span of her days.”
“And Cardan?” Jude asks.
The storm hag laughs. “How about this? Take him, and I’ll give you a head start.”
“Done,” Jude says. “So long as you’ll let me take my people, too.”
“If you win,” Bogdana says. “If you run.”
“Don’t do this,” Wren whispers.
Oak takes a step forward, his head spinning. He ignores the way Wren is looking at him, as though he is a lamb come straight to the slaughter, too stupid to run.
As he walks closer to his sister, an arrow hits the ground beside him from Jude’s camp. A warning shot.
