Just a little longer.
A hand came down on her shoulder, and she whirled, elbow swinging for a hard jab. Toran caught it in an instant, his palm encompassing her bone and stopping the impact.
“Whoa,” he said, his eyes alight with surprise. “You okay?”
She lowered her arm. “Yeah. A little on edge.”
She felt Toran’s gaze on her, felt the calculating way it moved from her incessant tapping to the careful rise and fall of her chest. His own chest seemed to fold in, as if preparing to wrap around her. But he didn’t move.
“It’ll be over soon,” Toran promised before slipping through the archway.
Over. She was ready for the end. Holding her magic firm, she followed him through the arch.
The narrow path opened into a large cavern, the ceiling stretching higher than she would have thought possible. Beside her, the canal spread out into a wide pool, the water lapping at the edge of stone. The smell of salt was strong in the air. Her magic curled behind her ribs, hissing like a hot pan in cold water.
The room was lit by dozens of torches. The King of Orlonea sat in a simple wooden chair propped against the far wall, six guards stationed on either side of him. At last, here was the man responsible for the years she and her father had spent on the run. The reason her father had spent the last four in prison. But this man wasn’t the villain she’d imagined.
Seated before her, shoulders slumped forward, King Harkett was just a man. And an old one, at that. His black hair was speckled with gray and his gray eyes, though sharp, did not hold the raging storm she’d heard so much about. The King’s face was weathered with old age. There were no hard lines there, only crevices detailing moments well-lived.
Quint sank to his knees, and the rest of them mimicked his action. The six of them bowed to the King—Damari still fighting consciousness between Quint and Genna—and waited for his permission to stand.
“Rise,” King Harkett said.
Beside her, Toran shot up, but she was slow to stand. Part of her had expected one of the King’s guards to chop her head off the moment she inclined it.
The King’s eyes shifted from one person in their small group to another. When his cool gray eyes found hers, there was no recognition there. The King spared her a second of his precious time, and then his focus was on Toran.
“Captain Roada,” the King said, “you arranged this meeting, insisted I come down here.” The King glanced around the damp space as if it were a decorated ballroom in need of his approval. “Am I to believe you have succeeded in the mission I assigned you?”
Toran nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ve brought you the Witch.”
His expression was stoic, but Nes had long since learned to see the tick of nerves underneath. Color drained from his lips, and his jaw tightened.
She’d known this mission mattered to him, but she hadn’t realizedhow much. Toran hadn’t just wanted to succeed, he’d wanted to prove he was still worthy in the eyes of the King.
“Your Majesty,” Toran said, “I present to you the one girl in all the land with magic in her veins. The Witch.”
The King didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But that was pride in his eyes as he stared at his son’s Crown.
Damari, finally awake again, shook from her spot on the floor. Quint and Genna had tied rope around her wrists, and Nes could see how the cord chafed the girl’s skin. Damari tried to lift her hands, but the rope only dug deeper, and she crouched in on herself, her black hair falling to hide her features.
Nes waited for the order. The one to drown Damari in the Witch’s Well tomorrow. She’d be free then, as close to freedom as she’d ever been. Damari’s death would not weigh heavy on her conscience. She would not be the one to kill her, so it would not be her fault.
None of this was her fault.
At last, the King spoke. His eyes darkened as they narrowed on Damari. “This is the Witch?” he asked. “This girl does not seem all-powerful.”
Toran took a step forward. She couldn’t see his face.
“That’s because she’s not, Your Majesty.”
Nes frowned. She studied the coiled muscles of Toran’s back, the tension between his shoulder blades.
“The Witch is strong and invulnerable,” Toran continued. “But most of all, she is cunning. She had me fooled.” He gripped the hilt of his sword, the metal sliding out of its sheath just enough for her to glimpse the shine of it, the way it glistened as if freshly cleaned. “Your Majesty, I have brought you the Witch as promised.” He drew his sword and held it at Damari, something dripping from the blade’s point. “But this is not her.”
Toran wheeled, swinging his sword and slashing it across Nes’s stomach.
She gasped, bending over in shock. Blood leaked through the gapin her white shirt, soaking and spreading over the fabric. Pain cracked from her wound and bit into her skin, burning like acid.
