“Dark magic’s not an option,” I state.
“Have you considered the other ones?” Sinora prompts. “She selects nothing, you die, and she deteriorates. She selects light magic, and there’s a consequence, just like what happened to Sabrina. What if it’s you or Ash who gets killed? Do you suppose she’d like that more than being a Dark Witch?”
No. If that’s what happened, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. I don’t know what choice she would make if she knew her options. The fate of light magic is in her hands. She could stop mothers from dying in childbirth. With light magic restored, Allwitches could return to the mainland.
But there would be consequences.
Maybe she would make the same decision as Sabrina. Neither, and she’d let herself deteriorate so no one gets hurt. That seems the most like her, except . . . she stayed in Everden when she thought my Death Bond meant someone Icared aboutwould die. Now she knows it’s me — there’s no way she’s not pickingsomethingat Selection.
I stare at the table, my head bowed. “What am I supposed to tell her?”
“Tell her it’s an allergy. You can even tell her I said it. Ember is allergic to light magic. But you can’t tell her her role in ending the Witch’s Limit — the risk is too great that she would take it upon herself to end it. Just let her choose dark magic without the burden of knowing what it will do to the realm.”
I rub along the underside of my brows, staring at the hearth. Ember invited me, a stranger, into her house so she could help her dad. Ember walked straight up to the gates of the Allwitch temple after Jaxan threatened to remove my tongue. Emberrefusesto swat at a mosquito. She even got herself branded trying to save Aila and Ari and Trist.
And as more witches die in childbirth . . .
As more witches deteriorate . . .
How far would she go to try to save them?
I push my chair back, shaking my head. The last thing I want is another secret I have to keep from her. But Sinora’s right. Ember can’t know she’s the key to ending the Witch’s Limit.
“If you can speak to an Allwitch,” Sinora finally says after some hesitation, “they might know another solution. They have the ancient history books. Perhaps they know more than we do.”
* * *
I leave the Blackburn estate with a tight pain twisting in my gut. As long as I have this Death Bond on my arm, she’s going to picksomethingat Selection. Dark magic will put light witches out of existence. Light magic, and Ember will be tested.
I’ve seen both outcomes in Visions. The path where she’s a light witch. The path where she’s a Dark Witch. Based on that information alone, dark magicisthe right path, but I’m not ready to push her toward it until I get more information.
What I need is to talk to an Allwitch, but the only one I’m in contact with works for Jaxan, and she’s as bound to report to him as I am. I don’t know how far he’ll go to make sure Ember selects dark magic. What I do know is nothing good will come of him hearing I’m asking questions about it.
I head to the catacombs to ask Seracia what she knows, in a cold sweat because it’s the last place I should be going. The last time I was in the catacombs, I was sent to shut down the “DarkWitch uprising.” That was the same day Ember was branded.
I didn’t know then that it was a training exercise for me. I figured it out after Jaxan let every Dark Witch involved go free, including Rye Cackrin, who has been threatening to kill me ever since the incident with my legs. The night I killed his Counterpart. Not until the uprising did I realize the only reason Cackrin hasn’t gone through with it yet is because he’s been biding his time. Getting stronger. Building a coven.
He frequents the catacombs. I don’t know what he’ll do if he sees me. But I need to find out what Seracia knows about the Witch’s Limit, so I draw in a deep breath of cold air and descend the stone steps to the tunnels.
I strike a match, watching for Shadowforms at every turn. I listen for slowed breaths and focus my awareness on any changes in heat or scent, for nervous perspiring that could indicate hidden bodies. There are the usual skittering sounds. Buzzing in my ears.
Then my hearing sharpens.
I duck into an alcove and listen as exacting footsteps punish the uneven ground. The sound of high heels on pavement. I can taste the overpowering smell of her floral perfume floating down the tunnel. It’s Farrah Prolix.
Ember might not have told me what happened last night, but my Scrier did. A Mind Trick spell to make her fall, a Contact spell so violent it made her sick. If I wasn’t set on finding out what Seracia knows about the Witch’s Limit, I might consider wasting a minute of my time on Farrah, to make her pay for what she did. But I exhale. My fingers uncurl from their fists. I tell myself not to be stupid and resume walking down the corridor.
Farrah follows.
Throwing a glare over my shoulder, I say, “I don’t think you want to be around me right now, Farrah.”
A dangerous, giddy look gleams in her eyes. She carries alantern, her other wrist swinging a bulky pink hefting satchel.
My back is to a dozen tunnels splintering off in a hundred different directions, any of which could be hiding at least seven witches waiting to kick in my ribs. I blow out my match and toss it.
“Actually, I do,” she says. “Which is why, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve chosen to follow you into the catacombs.” She has no volume control and no respect for the way things work down here. Her lashes sweep upward like maimed spider legs as she stares up at me.
My trained eyes retain the deadness Jaxan put into them fourteen years ago, my unwillingness to engage leading her to switch tactics.
