That’s why Juniper was here: to keep Rune alive. Cressida had likely ordered the girl—who was known for her knack with healing spells—to stay by Rune’s side.
She needed Rune alive to cast the resurrection spell.
Why didn’t Nan tell me?
Juniper poured more water from the pitcher, then returned to Rune’s side, holding out the glass.
Rune shook her head, refusing the water. “Can you help me up?”
Juniper looked reluctant, but did as Rune asked, carefully taking hold of her arms and pulling her to a seated position.
Rune’s back screamed in protest.
She clenched her teeth, enduring the pain, and sat up. The room spun. Not only had she lost a lot of blood, she hadn’t eaten in days. Her weakness made that clear.
Feeling lightheaded, she pushed herself to the bed’s edge and stood up slowly. With every inch she moved, the pain became more bearable, until finally she was at the porthole, looking out.
A fleet of ships surrounded them, their stacks pumping smoke into the sky. Rune recognized Soren’s insignia emblazoned on their sides.
A familiar island loomed in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun.
Cascadia.
Was this it, then? Were witches at war with the New Republic?
Rune was about to turn away from the porthole when she caught sight of her reflection in the glass. Her face was sickly pale, and bruise-like shadows hung under her eyes. She looked like a ghost.
If this is what the front of me looks like, how much worse is the back?
Rune glanced at the tarnished mirror hanging on the cabin wall. While Juniper looked on with pity in her eyes, Rune took hold of her shirt’s hem and dragged it up over her head. Scorching pain flared up her back, bringing tears to her eyes. Rune clenched her teeth, determined to see the damage.
Lowering the shirt to her side, she turned, glancing into the mirror. Dozens of thick, red lines stood out against her white skin. Covering her back like a web.
It looked hideous.
Rune shut her eyes against the sight of her ruined body.
The sound of footsteps in the hall made her fumble with her shirt, trying to pull it back over her head without passing out from the pain.
She’d barely gotten it on when the door opened.
“What are you doing?” Seraphine stepped inside, her worried gaze falling on Rune. “You should be resting.”
Promise me you’ll find Seraphine Oakes, my darling. She’ll tell you everything I couldn’t.
It was the last note Nan ever wrote her.
Seraphine had known who Rune was this whole time. And she’d chosen to keep the truth from her.
“Why?” Rune demanded, emotions flickering through her: anger, betrayal, grief.
Seraphine shut the door behind her and came toward the bed, which stood between them.
“How could you keep such a secret from me?”
Rune felt unmoored. Everything that could be taken from her had been. Nan. Wintersea. Alex. Her position in society. And now this: everything she’d believed about her own history.
Rune was the orphaned daughter of two people who’d died in a tragic accident at sea—that’s what she’d been told. But it was a lie. One Nan herself perpetuated.
