“Hazel.”
Her head snapped, her glossy-eyed gaze meeting his.
“Her fate was determined long ago.” He grabbed her by her shoulders. “Yours was as well, and it isn’t here with us. With me. It’s out there, past the Border, beyond the reach of this kingdom.”
“Where am I supposed to go then? I can’t go home. I can’t stay here. I have no family.”
“My hope is that we can get you to someone who can handle your magic. Someone who can help you reel it in and hone that power into something usable.”
“And who in the name of the gods is going to do that?”
“The witches,” he spat, as though the words were poison on his tongue.
THE PHOENIX
Slaide hung his head in defeat.
“What? What is it?” Hazel asked, frantically grabbing him by his shirt.
“He just announced her sentence. They’re…”
“Don’t.” Hazel held her hand up. “I get it.”Fuck. I should be there. I should be tied to a post right alongside Agnes.
She certainly didn’t need Slaide to give life to the words. If the King had announced her sentence, the only thing left to do would be to light the pyre. Her insides knotted.
“Hazel, I?—”
“How long?” she interrupted, eyes shining.
“What?” He frowned.
“How long until…” She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring herself to ask what she wanted to know. How much time did Agnes have until the flames licking her skin were no longer bearable? How long until they heard her involuntary screams?
He sighed. “Minutes, maybe. Perhaps not at all. I don’t know what she’s capable of. She said something about going home. I don’t think this is the end for her.”
Hazel looked at her feet. “She said not to worry about her pain. Is there magic that can ward off the pain of such a death?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, Hazel. But I need you to find out for me, okay? We need to get you clear of this castle before my plans come to fruition. I am going to have enough people to evacuate that I don’t need to worry about whether or not you made it out alive. Which is why you’re getting on this wagon.Now.”
The group’s members were distracted with their departure preparations, and for that Hazel was grateful. It allowed Slaide and Hazel ample time to cross the carriage grounds to the wagon they’d chosen for her escape.
Multiple crates were stacked beside the wagon, along with several bulging burlap sacks that had yet to be crammed into the wagon they’d hitched to the coach. There would be plenty of places for her to hide among their belongings.
Slaide offered Hazel his hand to assist her into the wagon. She took it, and was hefted inside without any obvious effort on his part. But when their hands separated, Hazel found two vials in her grasp: one contained fine, black powder; the other contained larger black granules. She read the labels, and her eyes snapped up to Slaide.
Witchbane. Obsidian Salt.
And there was a note attached that was short and to the point.
One is for ingesting—to help disguise what you are during your travels. The other will get you across the Border without dying. Don’t mix them up.
-S.
Hazel stashed the note and vials in a small knapsack and scooted back as far as she could, keeping her head ducked below the animal hide cover. As she squeezed in among the boxes and crates that had already been packed, the heel of Hazel’s palm came down on something soft, and she was met with an angry, screeching yowl.What?
It was that gods-damned orange cat. He hissed.
“Cat!” she snapped in a scolding whisper. “Of all the places you decide to show up. Here? Shush!”
