“Not dead,” Victor grated, voice a dull rasp. “But I fear it will be soon.”
“It was The Dark One,” Runa said. “Somehow, he tapped into the power of our tree. And with the wendigo’s draining everything they touched…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
The tree was damaged because of me. My blood went cold at the realization. “It can’t be.” Anguish tore through my words. “I–I need the arbor to heal Thorne.”
It was then that both royals turned their weary eyes to the man Kronk held. Runa’s already pained expression darkened. “Oh, Thorne.” She took in his battered form, the blood that painted his torso. “What happened?”
My throat tightened. “Alaric happened.”
“Serafina. I’m so sorry.” Tears wet her lavender eyes. “My deepest condolences.”
I stiffened at the finality in her words. “I don’t need your condolences. What I need is magic so that I can heal him. What I need is Carcerem’s arbor.”
The queen shook her head. “It wouldn’t matter. Not even Carcerem’s most skilled healer can bring back the dead. Thorne is in a place that magic cannot reach.”
“No.” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t believe that. There must be a way.”
I stared at the blistered trunk, the inky sap that leaked down its craggy surface. While Kronk set Thorne between the roots, a tugging sensation urged me closer. The nearer I came, the stronger that rope dragged at my insides. It was a desperate, aching pull. Hathor’s sacred arbor called to me, begging me to heal it.
I pressed my hand to my chest, finding the stone was once again on a chain around my neck. Even though I’d seen it shatter. Surely this was Hathor’s work—her subtle way of pushing me down a path of her choosing. Forcing me to do her bidding.
I clutched the little seed in my fist and took a step back.
“No.”
The word rang sharp and final. Silence fell. Even the tree seemed to pause, its dying branches creaking like bones shifting.
“No?” Runa asked, tilting her head in confusion.
I ignored the question, glaring at the heavens. “That’s right,Hathor. I said no.” My voice rose with my rising anger. “You want me to heal your flarking tree? You’ll give me my mate back.”
Silence greeted me, those gathered watching my theatrics with pale faces and pity in their glassy eyes.
“Serafina.” Drazen reached out as though to grasp my arm.
I jerked away from him. “No. This is between me and the goddess. I am the one she made her handmaiden.”
I shouted louder this time, directing my voice skyward. “Thorne has done nothing to deserve this. You punished him for almost a thousand years for a crime he didn’t commit. And me. You abandoned me with no memory and watched as I became a slave. For what? So that I can find happiness only to have it wrenched away?”
Victor rose from where he was slumped on the floor, predatory movements demanding my attention. “Is this true? You are Hathor’s handmaiden?”
“It’s true,” Drazen confirmed. “She confessed as much, and I’ve seen her magic.”
The king’s silver gaze leveled on me, hard and focused. “If so, it is your duty to heal her sacred arbors.”
Brimming with rage and pain, I ignored the threat in his tone. “Sacred duty? Lady Penelope used to say the same thing about her bedpans. I am sick and tired of being pushed around by one powerful entity or another. Forced to serve some greater power. And for what?” I flung my arm out, gesturing to Thorne’s broken form.
“Poor girl is crazed with grief,” Kronk muttered.
“No. I don’t think she is,” Runa said, glancing up at the glass ceiling.
I followed her stare. Above the withered tree, light gathered. It swirled in a tightening sphere until it formed a brilliant orb so bright it burned my eyes. Shadows fled to the corners, the mighty arbor’s sacred branches tipping toward the orb.
“Is that…” Drazen trailed off, mouth gaping.
“Hathor.” The king lowered to one knee, bowing his silver head. The others followed his lead, matching his act of devotion. Whereas I folded my arms and firmed my jaw. I would not bow before the entity who’d taken my mate from me.
“Daughter,” a voice made of sunshine and honey washed over me. “I did not make you my handmaiden as a punishment, but as a gift.”
