He grinned with predatory intent, and she had a sudden image of him sinking those white teeth into her mother’s flesh.
She hid a shiver by crossing her arms over her chest, remaining bent at the waist.He’s a murderer, not a cannibal,she reminded herself. Mavrel pecked her cheek lightly, and the pain steadied her.
She rose from her bow, contemplating whether she was expected to introduce her companions. But he beckoned her closer, and she found herself unable to speak.
“I never thought someone of your talents would be so young.”
Thia took a wobbling step, lungs shaking. “My talents, Your Majesty?”
He laughed. Thia felt a thousand maggots crawling over her skin. She told herself she would not run screaming from the room.
“Of course, you would be modest for Callista to be taken with you.” He said the wordmodestlike someone else might have saidfoolhardy.
She decided to step into the role, trusting whatever plan the Silver Sorceress had concocted would not actually involve her having to demonstrate such talents. She cleared her throat. “One cannot help the way one is born, Sire.”
The king chuckled. She wanted to brush the crawl from her skin, but she kept her arms locked to her sides.
“You have spirit,” he said. “I suppose I should have expected it of a witch-slayer.”
Awitch-slayer? Thia kept the shock from her face only barely. Dess’s eyes burned into her back, and she quelled the urge to scold him for his lack of subtlety. She could hear Thran’s breaths as well, though they were quickly soothed as he fought for control.
“Tell me,” the king continued. “How exactly did you vanquish Asha Würmheart? A mighty foe she must have been.”
Thia swallowed. She decided truth was her best option. “I—knocked her from the sky.”
He leaned back against his throne, relaxing almost good-naturedly. “Intriguing. With what, pray tell?”
“With…” Now the truth tripped her. She didn’t know how to say it without linking herself to the Storm Crow. “With an arrow,” she finished.
The king raised his black brows. “What a shot that must have been. And tell me, Thia Witch-Slayer, why you did not think to bring me her head as a gift?”
She forced herself to hold his gaze, squirming under the glittering accusation in the question. He thought she was some great witch-slayer? She would show him that. “I fed her to the nÿgens,” she said haughtily. “They looked hungry.”
There was a moment of silence, and she wondered if she had pushed her luck too hard. Her blood rushed in her ears. His lips rose in a snarl.
But then he laughed.
She wished he would stop. It was like rocks grinding through her mind.
“An excellent choice,” he said fondly. “I do so love those little beasts. Abominable things.” He leaned forward, suddenly serious again. “So, Thia Sanbrooke, Slayer of Asha Würmheart, why have you come to see me, if not to bring me the gift of a witch’s head?”
Thia’s heart thumped. Now was her chance. “That’s the thing,” she began. “I…never meant to come here. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” His voice was dangerously pleasant. “Perhaps there are too many witches elsewhere for you to spare the time to help a mere Mage King.”
She gulped. “Not at all. A mistake as in…I meant to come sooner.”
He settled back in his throne. “I see. And now that you are here, how long shall you remain? We would be pleased to have someone of your prestige among us. For a time.”
“The truth is,” Thia replied, stomach dropping to her feet, “I did not come here just to…slay.” She nearly stumbled over the word.
The corner of his mouth twitched. She dug her heels into the ground so that she wouldn’t back away in fear.
“I wished to slay Asha. But…I also came to help my attendant.” She beckoned Dess forward. “He was cursed as a young boy. By a magician from a faraway land.” She hoped the lie wasn’t a stretch. “He does not remember who he is. I wish to help him regain that.” She paused, waiting for the king to respond. He didn’t. She took a shaking breath. “And also,” she said in a rush, “I came here by magic. I need magic to send me home.” Her breath was too loud, too fast. From the tilt of his head, she wondered irrationally if he couldsmellher fear. She forced herself to dip her head in reverence. “Your Majesty.” She held the pose, staring at the ground and counting the seconds, her pulse pounding in the silence.
“So,” King Caradoc said at last, when she thought she might pass out. “You’ve come to make a deal. You think because you killed my witch, I must be obligated to help you.”
No, no, no, no.
