I rarely did anything that didn’t benefit me in some way, and yet here I was, charging into the danger for a child I’d known for three weeks. This was quite possibly the most reckless thing I’d ever done. Certainly the stupidest. But I cared about Amalie. Exactly when and how it had happened, I didn’t know. I only knew that if anything happened to that little girl because of me, I would feel shame and regret for the rest of my near-eternal life. So, for the first time, possibly ever, I would choose someone other than myself.
Just like with the shipwreck, I didn’t allow myself to crumble under the fear that had gripped hold of my entire being. Instead, I pushed Hazel to move faster, propelled by the belief that I would get there in time to save Amalie. And, once she was safe, I would figure out how to save myself—I had no intention of dying tonight.
The last of the sunlight filtered through the canopy, and soon the forest became so dark that I had no way of knowing what time it was. For a long time, the only sound to be heard was the rhythmic clopping of hooves on the ground, broken by the occasional splash through a puddle or a rustle in the bushes. And the sound of my own heart slamming against my ribs.
The dread knotting my insides was nearly debilitating by the time I reached the dense wood near the cottage. Just like the day of the hunt, everything went eerily still. As if this part of the woods was dead.
I spotted the clusters of mushrooms and mold growing onpatches on the ground. The stifled air smelled like damp earth and pine.
I was close.
I dismounted and tethered Hazel to the trunk of a pine tree, forming a hasty knot and hoping it would hold.
I had to keep moving, had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Despite every impulse in my body telling me to run in the other direction, I headed towards the cottage.
I ran like I had the last time I was in this forest, except, this time, I was running towards the monster. With each step I took I felt as though my heart was pounding harder. I inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled through my mouth to try to calm its racing drum.
I didn’t stop until I reached the mound of roots and moss and muddy soil. Panting for breath, I crouched behind the pine tree at its summit and peered down to the clearing where the ramshackle cottage lay. As twilight descended, a deep shadow cloaked its crumbling exterior.
From my vantage point, I could see the ancient, dented cauldron hanging above a lit fire, smoke billowing towards the dusky sky. Lying next to the fire pit, on a knitted blanket I recognized from Basia’s bed, was Amalie.
I didn’t think. My legs propelled me forward of their own accord as I dashed towards her body.
She lay on her back with her eyes closed, a serene expression on her face. But what scared me the most was that she was utterly still. It reminded me of how I had found her in the ocean that night.
I could have wept with relief when I spotted the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
“Amalie,” I called in a gentle voice. I said her name a few times more, and when that didn’t work, I tried shaking her. “Amalie, you have to wake up. We need to go,” I said, shaking hermore violently. Still, she could not be woken.
With a pit in my stomach, I shook her again, more furiously. It didn’t matter. She did not stir.
It looked like I would have to carry her until we reached Hazel. It would be difficult, and I’d have to take plenty of breaks, but I could do it. I would worry about waking her later—for now I just had to get her out of here.
I bent over to lift her when—
“You won’t be able to wake her, you know.”
I froze at the sound of the voice coming from the cottage behind me. I recognized that voice. Turning, my gaze locked on a familiar pair of sparkling eyes.
Chapter 45
My heart plummeted. Standing at the door of the cottage, dressed in a long, white, linen dress with bell sleeves, was Livia. She clutched a basket, its contents hidden from sight beneath a strip of black silk. Her usually perfect raven hair was tumbling down her back in untamed waves. I’d never seen her look more alluring. Or frightening.
Shock bound my body and ripped the air from my lungs. My mind was in a state of complete disorientation as it grappled with the undeniable truth. Livia was the murderer. Livia was a witch.
“Alara, I’m so happy to see you, lovely,” she cooed, strolling towards me. “I was beginning to wonder whether you’d received my note. Although your timing leaves something to be desired. I did say before sunset, did I not?” She tutted, as if I was late for tea.
I inhaled a shallow breath. Livia had taken lives. She had deceived me.
“I’ll try not to be too offended that my new friend doesn’t seem all that happy to see me,” she said, pouting.
I exhaled a shaky breath. The kind words, the laughs, the seeds of a friendship—all a lie. The heat in my blood melted away the freeze in my limbs as shock gave way to anger. How could I have fallen for her act?
And how could she be in such high spirits after all the terrible things she’d done? Runa, Basia, Lord Hywell—she had killed them all, and she’d attacked Hugo. She’d kidnapped achild.
I rose from my crouched position. “I don’t make a habit of calling deranged witches my friends,” I said coldly.
Her tinkling laughter echoed across the clearing—the only sound to be heard in this forsaken corner of the forest. “Is that what you think I am? A witch? Oh sweetie, if only I could wield that kind of power.”
