I will watch over him until you are ready. Go, Blackblood.
I nod, words evading me.
I keep expecting him to pop up beside me. I keep waiting for that moment when he shows up like he always does and offers me that smile that tells me that no matter what, everything is going to be okay.
But it doesn’t come. Zadyn isn’t coming. And it’s all my fault.
We make our way toward the edge of the trees, where the forest gives way to a village of rustic cabins. Mar holds up a hand to stop us.
“Let me go first.” She hesitates before stepping out onto the dirt path.
The hair on my arms stands up.
Something is wrong.
The second my mouth opens, a handful of figures step out of the shadows, forcing Mar to the ground. A silver blade glints against her throat. We lunge forward, but before we can reach her, we hit an invisible wall and bounce backward.
A shield.
“Marideth!” Dover pounds against the translucent dome.
The figures haul her to her feet, twisting her arms behind her back to knot a thick rope around her wrists.
I do the only thing I can think of. I hurl out a wave of fire. It hits the wall and blossoms out, sliding along the undetectable surface. But it doesn’t penetrate. The figures freeze, turning back toward us. Two of them approach, leaving Mar in the hands of a third. Their angular faces come into view. Sharp and beautiful, they stare at us with snarling mouths.
“Let her go!” Dover bellows.
“I will burn this forest to the ground if you don’t lower this shield,” I threaten.
“Do it, and you seal your own grave,” one of them hisses.
“You wanna bet on it?” I send another stream of fire flying at the dome, and it quivers. They jerk backward, exchanging a glance. “I can do this all night.”
Recovering, the smaller one snaps, “You wish to be tried with the traitor?”
“Drop the shield. Now.”
“One wrong move and she burns without trial.”
“And you’ll join her,” the other adds. With a wave of her hand, she lowers the shield. “Bind them.”
“It’s alright,” Mar croaks, eyes pleading with me.
With the knife pressed to her throat, we comply, holding out our hands to be bound. We’re dragged through the Blueblood camps, past the rows of identical cottages, each of which looks dark and empty. When we’re thrust into a large hut packed with bodies, I realize it’s because everyone is here.
Waiting for us.
A hush falls over the crowd of females as we’re shoved forward, earning hateful stares on the way. We’re tossed at the foot of a dais housing five thrones made of twigs and wild brush, four of which are occupied by witches in crowns of thorns. They’re beautiful, with eyes different shades of gray and silver and ice-blue. Beautiful and terrifying.
The blades remain pressed to our throats as one of the crowned Bluebloods stands, her voice slicing through the hushed murmurs of the gathered covens.
“You dare show your face back here? With a pack of outsiders, no less?” Her ice-blonde hair falls like a silk sheet to her hips, her black nails filed to dagger-like points.
“Please, Esther,” Mar entreats. “I know I’ve broken the covenant. You can tie me up and burn me on the pyre, but first I need to speak with her.”
“Silence! You do not come here and make demands of the elders. You made your choice when you defected.”
“Just let me speak with her?—”
