I guess even a Queen cannot prosecute for all acts of lawlessness. In reality, ruling is walking a very thin line between supervision and totalitarianism.
Finally, we enter the farthest door from the left, and the smell of blood hits my nostrils, making me gag.
In my defence, I am a lady, not a fucking peasant.
The female lets me maintain my dignity and doesn’t comment on it, so I assess the room. An alchemy lab; nothing more, nothing less.
A jumble of ingredients barely fit on the shelves, which are on their last… nails. On the floor lies a crimson carpet, full of darker discolourations from Gorok knows what, and in the centre of the room sits a giant fireplace with a worn-out cauldron.
The Forest Witch stares into it, totally ignoring the smoke which is assaulting her face.
“Why did you help me?” I decide to use her distraction to my advantage, abandoning the semblance of a good upbringing.
She won’t quit the alliance now. She wants something from me, and I don’t believe she will mince her words.
She tilts her chin, coughs, and forms a maddening smile. Even in her young body, she looks aged. Mature and all-knowing, her gaze has the ruthlessness of someone who has lived through too much.
I spoke of what I know.
I frown as her voice sounds in the air, but she hasn’t opened her mouth. Is it a form of mind intrusion?
“You are not the sharpest tool in the box, are you?” This time she uses her mouth, exposing yellow teeth. “You, my dear, have more pressing matters than the False King and his war. You need to correct what you neglected.”
“Are you talking about the spirits?” I ask, careful to avoid thinking about the implications.
She nods, getting agitated. “The spirits of the massacre are unsettled. While initially they were patiently waiting for your return to perform your duty, now they are reckless. They don’t have long before they vanish completely or get snatched by the Limborians.” I flinch when she names what I’ve done a massacre, earning myself a scrutinising glare for the rest of the speech.
“Can I do it now?” I ask.
“Commanding the spirits is possible only on Samhain, when the Veil is the thinnest, at the gate Beriganders used to enter the continent. Only a true descendant of Gorok can command and gather all Fae-like folks in the Spiritland, allowing them to cross the Bridge to their resting place. The longer they linger, the less hope there is that they will survive. The suffering in the void is immense.”
“They’ve been wandering in the Spiritland for far too long, but even Vanishing would be better for them than what’s happening now. Limborians hunt them.”
Soul eaters.
I flinch; the ghouls have unlimited access to the Limbo. They are due to hunt any wandering spirits.
“I won’t make it in time!” Panic laces my words.
“Make time!” The Witch snaps, throwing some leaves into the cauldron. “It is your duty.”
She studies me carefully, and the slick power of the hut caresses my shoulders. I let her. What else can I do? Ask her not to?
“You have no control. Even with that leech, you are barely useful for anything.” The Vikan spits, piercing my ego.
Can’t she be fucking nicer?
“I thought I had more time to control my powers!” They should have said something instead of playing games with my feelings. I let myself be manipulated once again. Never again. I will not let others play me.
She shakes her head, as if to say I am helpless.
“I can help you tip the scale, but the cost of the shortcut may be disastrous,” she says, looking at the ingredients behind me.
“What do you mean?” I turn, following her gaze. There’s a small box on the middle shelf, emanating an oddly familiar yet foreign energy.
“I have a remedy that can put a part of your power to sleep, but be warned: it’s deadly and addictive. The root will poison not only your body, but it will eat away at your mind if you overdose.”
“But I could wield the power? I’d be ready?” The hope nearly knocks the wind out of me.
