“What witchcraft did you use on the prince?” she demanded. “I’ve heard the rumors about the savagery that festers in the outskirts. Your kind will stoop to anything, no matter how vile, to claw your way upward.”
“You’re mistaken?—”
“Spare me your innocence,” she hissed. “Everyone knows what lives in those twisted woods you crawled out of. The hag who plays with bones and shadows. The one who speaks to devils in the dark. That’s where you come from, isn’t it?”
She must be referring to Mad Mag. The so-called witch of Brier Len.
“That’s absurd,” I managed to say. “There are no devil-worshipers in Brier Len.”
Leya stepped closer, her eyes glittering with fury. “There’s devil-blood in your veins. I can feel it.”
“There isn’t,” I answered, this time more firmly. I lifted my chin. “I’m no differentthan you.”
She recoiled, disgust rippling across her face. “How dare you compare the rot of Brier Len to the blood of Hyrall? You’re a madwoman.”
I said nothing. My lips stayed pressed together, silence my only defense.
“You’ll regret ever setting foot in this place, slug. You don’t belong here.”
And the truth of it echoed in my chest, hollow and final.
She was right.
I didn’t belong here.
But I didn’t belong anywhere anymore.
“It wasn’t my choice to come here,” I said.
“All the more reason to send you back,” she snapped.
With one last hateful glance, Leya turned and walked away.
My eyes hardened as I stared back out the window at the falling snow. I told myself that it would get better. It would just take time.
And it did get better.
Funny how things change when you find the courage to strike the viper back.
Now,as I watched Leya shrink before me, I wondered if she ever realized her cruelty only sharpened my will to see her fall. I’d made myself a promise a year ago that I wouldn’t be the timid woman I once was.
And I wasn’t. Not anymore.
This transformation came at a price, and only time would reveal the cost of it.
So, I twisted the knife further. “His Highness gifted me another robe last night.”
Leya’s breath caught sharply, and Rosette’s shoulders quivered. Imogen cowered further behind her book.
“It’s beautiful,” I said with a biting emphasis. “That makes thirteen.”
Leya’s throat bobbed with barely contained rage. “You witch…”
Her tone was thick with both disbelief and hatred.
“I’m no witch, Leya,” I said, tilting my head. “I’m simply better than you.”
Leya clenched the silk fan in her hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. With a sharp flick, she snapped it open, staring at its embroidery like it might offer her dignity.
