“How did that happen?”
Emrys tilts his head, tuning in with his powers, listening to their story, and I do my best to do the same. Yet, none of it makes sense. Words flutter through my mind, but I am unable to turn them into cohesive sentences.
“Emrys,” I whisper softly. “What happened?”
His eyes snap back to mine, the black replaced with our color, anthracite.
“The youngling, the death witch, it seems her intentions weren’t as sincere as we thought… He was never to make it out alive; all she and the quarter witch wanted was to use his blood. It was the plan from the beginning, it seems… She didn’t have an ounce of love for your brother.”
Part of me knew it; I could tell from the way she glanced at Fynn, the subtle shudders that rolled over her skin when she was near him. Yet, I don’t feel remorse for handing him over to Caria, even though I knew this was a possible outcome. Perhaps part of me had even hoped for it.
“Does it make me a monster to feel no regret for the choice I made that day?”
“No, Tempest, it doesn’t.”
Emrys braids his fingers through mine and kisses my knuckles gently, leaving behind smears of blood.
“No one can blame you for the choice you made, the constant angst you endured, the dread that terrorized you. You had a slight hope the witch had some sincerity left in her bones. If anything, that makes you a saint, myLucem mei.”
“How do I tell my mother?” My voice is barely audible.
Part of me hopes she will accept it for what it is, a gamble that went wrong, but I know my mother. I’m uncertain whether she can handle Fynn’s death after everything she went through. A lost part of my heart weeps for her and the loss of my brother, but truthfully, the news feels like a slow unfurling of dread’s grip. It’s deliverance after all these years of creeping anxiety and fear.
“I like those fangs on you, Tempest,” Emrys smirks, and I give him a soft push.
“This is serious, Emrys.”
“I know, my love, but there’s nothing we can do about it. The witches have what they wanted, magical blood.”
“Were they aware of our nature from the beginning?” I wonder.
“No, their initial want was for the cursed blood. Blood witches need to obtain their blood violently, and it being cursed makes it even more potent, but I assume once they learned his blood had been purified, White witch blood… Wait…”
Emrys tilts his head again, concentration on his face as he listens. Then he nods in understanding.
“He tried to attack them. Caria and Reiner assaulted him to get his essence, and it awakened his witch side… Now I understand their reasoning. He was too dangerous for them to keep alive…”
“Perhaps that will make it easier to tell the story to my mother.”
I pick at my nails, restlessness coiling inside me, forming a knot in my stomach. She’s going to be upset regardless, about my turning… I’ll find her early in the morning.
“Mother?”
I glance at her warily. She sits at the kitchen table, taking small sips from her own herbal tea. She looks up and meets my gaze. My mother narrows her eyes at me. Excruciatingly slow, she puts down her cup, steam billowing from the hot fluid.
“What did you do?” she asks with a croaked voice, as if her throat is dry as parchment.
I arch an eyebrow at her. When I stay silent and move toward her, her eyes are glued to my every step. The moment I open my mouth to speak, her eyes widen. She pushes her chair back and almost tumbles to the floor due to her erratic movement.
“You… No, no, Harlot tell me you didn’t!”
Tears start to well in the corners of her eyes. I close my eyes in defiance, as I understand she noticed my teeth. My very sharp teeth.
“Mother… This is my choice; one I stand by.”
I straighten my shoulders and stare back at her.
“He did this to you, that monster did this. My sweet girl. Oh, what did he do to you!” Wet streaks trail across her cheeks as she sobs loudly.
