“When is the next new moon?”
“Not long,” I said. “A few days.”
“Will everything be ready in time?”
It would have to be. I would rather die than be bonded to this man for a moment longer than necessary.
13
MORGAINE
We left the ruined cottage behind and set off into the woods in search of the items the ritual required. The plants and herbs the rebels had requested would wait, if we returned to the Burrow at all.
If I had my way, in two days' time the bond would be broken, Stefano would cease to be a problem, and I’d disappear into the woods, never to be seen in Sherwood again.
“A vine to entwine our hands?” Stefano’s voice cut through, his boots crunching over fallen branches.
I nodded. “It will be easier if it’s fresh.” Wind rustled the leaves and ruffled my hair, filling my nostrils with the scent of fresh, green foliage and wet earth.
“A raven feather, water collected from a moonlit pool at midnight,” he added, checking off each item on his fingers. “And a silver dagger?”
“That’s what it says.” I’d tell him what the dagger was for when the time came; no need to frighten him off at this point.
“It’s a good job I always keep a spare,” he said, slipping a long, sleek blade from his belt and tossing it in the air. He caught the handle and slid it back into its sheath at his hip.
I remembered him telling me about the dagger he’d offered Sal and Lavender, and a jagged piece of ice twisted in my heart at the thought of them. I hoped they had managed to escape that dungeon and were hidden somewhere right now, plotting their revenge on the man who’d locked them up, just as I was.
The thought of plunging that dagger into his black heart as soon as the bond broke was the only thing keeping me from unleashing my magic on him right now and taking us both down.
“So,” Stefano said, suddenly. “Have you always been a witch?”
I raised an eyebrow. Surely this was a trap. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation. I haven’t actually spent much time with a witch before. Not knowingly, anyway.”
I scoffed. “No, you probably kill them before they can get a word out.”
“To tell you the truth, I’ve only ever killed one witch myself. And,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed. “It was an accident.”
That took me aback. Hadn’t I heard him described as a champion witch killer? Hadn’t he been brought here, across the seas, to serve Prince John as his head witch hunter? And he’d only ever killed a single witch with his own hands?
“Why are you telling me this?” One witch was still one too many, no matter what he said.
His mouth quirked up at one side in a self-conscious smile. “Well, I can’t imagine you’ll be discussing me with the prince over a pot of tea. And I suppose, I wanted to get it off my chest. I’m not the cold-blooded killer I’m assumed to be, I’ve just been lucky.”
I frowned, nostrils flared. “Lucky?”
“I mean, I seem to have an innate ability to find and identify witches. I can usually…tell. You, though,” he said, wagging afinger at me. If he wasn’t careful, I’d bite that finger right off. “You I didn’t recognise as a witch right away. The usual strange feeling wasn’t there.”
I picked my way through the undergrowth, keeping an eye out for vines and bird’s nests. “I have been in hiding for a long time now, I suppose I’m better at disguising my magic than most.”
“How long?” His tone suggested he was genuinely curious. What harm would it do, now? He’d told me something about himself—something he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with just anyone.
“Over five hundred years.”
Stefano’s boot caught on a tree root and he stumbled. Righting himself, he turned to me. “My apologies, Morgaine, but it sounded like you saidfive hundred years.”
“What of it?”
