When the last person rises, my hand is shaking in Jarek’s. I glance behind me, hoping Celia or Elwyn’s spirit are still there but they’re gone.
“Well look at you,” Lady Mordona says. “Seems as though you’re quite the talker, just like that brother of yours.”
Sour words build on my tongue, but before I can spew them, Oletta stands abruptly, startling both Calix and Thaddeus. “What is your plan, Samaria? To waltz into Valebridge and demand Sorin take the throne?”
No, I want to say.
Of course that isn’t my plan. Because this—I look to my right, at every person still standing watching me—is bigger than the throne.
This is justice for an entire country.
Not just Enchantresses, but every single one of us.
“No, Lady Oletta.” I drop Jarek’s hand and brace myself against the table. “My plan is to go to war.”
Forty-Four
Sorin
The groundbeneath my boots is soggy, and when I take a step closer to the small lake, I hold my breath. Not because of the pungent smells, but because of what lies beneath. Just below the surface, barely visible in the inky dark water are two faces.
Two women, not three.
Shite.
Their dark hair spools around them in spider-like tendrils. Their ivory skin is smooth and their cheeks are rosy. I lean closer over the water's edge. Their lips are pouty and berry-stained red.
Let us out!
I stumble backward at the sudden voices, tripping over a half-buried rock in the moss. Alaric and Ruse are at my sides, but for the first time since I’ve known them, they cower. Whimpering away.
“Not a good fucking sign.” Shaking my hands to regain some feeling in them, I stand up and glance into the pool again. My heart slams against my ribs, doubt tightening around my spine when another caw from the crow, I’m certain it’s the same one, sounds again.
Just as it does, the women in the water snap open their eyes. Two sets of large, doe-like eyes the color of the very moss on which I’m standing stare back at me. Their lips curl into a smile and a tether pulls taut in my stomach.
I yank my hand back, demanding control over my own body, but that tether pulls tighter and tighter until my hand dips into the water.
As soon as my hand submerges, they don’t hesitate. Their pointed nails claw at my skin and when I try to break free, they dig in farther, piercing my skin.
“Ruse! Alaric!”
Growls sound behind me but before the wolves can approach, the women begin crawling out of the pool, limbs contouring in unnatural angles. The crack of their bones is sharp against the eerie quiet of the forest.
As the first emerges, my heart races as her long black hair shifts, turning white and silver. The second woman climbs out, her porcelain skin withering, creases and lines etching into her as she takes a full breath. Gone are the beauties under the water, and before me are the crones.
The Fates.
“Hmmm,” the first says, taking a step forward.
Ruse growls next to me, her haunches raised and teeth barred.
“I remember you.” The crone giggles, her voice and laugh sounding much too young and sweet to match her ancient, sunken face. “Don’t you remember, sister?”
The other cocks her head to the side, her face splitting into a wicked grin. “How could I forget,” she says. “But where is your little wife?”
The crones erupt into laughter, the sound of it clawing at my ears. I hardly have time to contemplate when and where Eloraand I have met these women before they scurry toward me, their jagged nails reaching for my skin.
I take a step backward, putting as much distance between myself and them as I can. “I think you already know where she is.” Alaric brushes against my fingertips.
