Page 91 of Through the Wicked Wood

He shakes his head, his eyes scanning my face. “Maybe what I’m doing isn’t dignified,” he whispers, a shadow of the man I called my friend passes over his face. Like he’s still in there, somewhere, but this need for control has consumed him. “But maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m doing what should have been done long ago. Enchantresses have been held to such a high standard for centuries, it’s time for change.” His voice slithers through the cell. His eyes fill with hunger. Rage. Power. Though, there’s a desperation lining them that only someone who is tired of being seen as weak could possibly possess. I recognize it, because I too have felt that desperation.

“Now,” he says, straightening himself, “make this easy on yourself, Elora, and no one else has to get hurt.” The guard behind him steps forward, passing him a familiar vial.

The same vial he has been giving me for my injured foot.

“You…poisoned me?” I take a step back, distancing myself from the door of the cell. Galen laughs again but nothing about it is humorous. Cold and vicious, he uncorks the vial.

“You’re far too important to be poisoned. This”—he swirls the small glass tube—“is meant to treat injuries and dampen magick. You were all too eager to take it, just as your mother was when I instructed that guard to slip it to her all those years ago.” With a wave of his hand, he dismisses the statement like it’s unordinary.

Cade.

Cade gave my mother a magick dampening potion. He was the reason she didn’t sense the hunters. The reason she is dead. The voices ignite within me. Their shouts fill my ears and fuel my rage. This will not end well for them, the voices in my head scream.

No, it will not.

“Lucky for me, it renders your magick useless to you, making it much easier to access,” Galen says. The guard unlocks the cell as Galen passes him the vial. Scurrying back, I don’t make it far before I’m grabbed by my hair. Wrists shackled, knee bleeding, I am powerless. “Another benefit to my years spent learning instead of fighting.”

I wince as the man grips my chin, prying my mouth open before forcing the liquid down my throat. Dropping to my knees, the effects leave me dizzy. My magick is nulled to silence, tears fall freely as the guard relocks the iron bars on the other side of the cell. My mind snags on our conversation back in Wickersham, about the hunter’s using a potion of their own to hunt magick.

“You…you made something similar for the hunters,” I whisper, my chest cracks as more tears fall. “Something to sense our magick when it’s used.”

“See, it’s all coming together,” Galen says as he crouches down on the opposite side of my cell, his head tilted to the side as he watches me struggle to catch my breath through the sobs that won’t stop. “Now tell me where you hid the Stones, or watch as Loxley burns.”

Epilogue

Roman

“Have you heard?” I ask the guard stationed outside the door. I can’t remember his name and quite honestly, I don’t care.

“No, Your Majesty, no word yet.” He shakes his head, keeping it hung low to avoid my eyes.

“The moment you hear from him, send word,” I say, taking a step closer. I tilt his chin with my index finger, forcing his gaze. “The moment,” I say again, and he nods. He’s young, inexperienced, not my usual guard, Cade, who I’ve grown to trust. Though, I suppose now he’s an officer he won’t be stationed outside my door as much. Pity.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard’s voice shakes, so I remove my hand from his chin. The new ones always fear me. Perhaps that’s for the best.

Stepping back through the oak doors of the study, I slam them shut before pacing the room. I should be in my quarters, but the study brings me peace. Or, should I say, it usually brings me peace. I often find comfort among the bookshelves that line the walls, the spines cracked with age and good use.

But tonight, I’m nothing but nerves. Galen was to be back by now, and with him, Sorin and the others.

Sorin.

His name turns my gut upside down. A half-brother Galen insisted I have.

As far as I’ve known, I’m an only child, until a few weeks ago when Galen wrote to me about a half-brother that has been living in the forest. My stomach sours at the thought. A brother. A threat to my throne.

My focus shifts to the first time Galen and I met. We were eighteen. Young and in love. He was so different from the other scholars that often toured Valebridge and our libraries. He was the only one that didn’t bow when my father and I entered a room. Silas hated it, I was smitten.

I pour myself a drink, three fingers deep and toss it back in a single pull, attempting to numb the sting of what we’ve done.

What I’ve done.

A quick knock at the door has me gritting my teeth.

“Come in,” I say, pouring myself another drink.

“Your Majesty,” the guard says, his voice wavering slightly in the presence of the Corrupt King. I know it’s what they call me. Not everyone agrees with the vision Galen and I have for the future of Valebridge, of Teravie.

Sometimes I’m not sure I even agree with it. Regret is like a poison that kills slowly, quietly, until one day you wake up and all you’re left with is skin and bone.

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