Page 17 of Witch’s Heart

“They have a solution for that, too.” Her voice was grim. “More than one.”

“Tell me.”

“You have heard of this new Nebrine repellent from Carth?”

“I thought that was a rumor.”

“I assure you, it is not. We have several here in the Citadel, of varying sizes. They’ve been tested. Everything checks out.”

I huffed. “That’s helpful for Raeria’s people, but it won’t be enough. Repelling demons doesn’t kill them.”

Fiona cast her gaze towards the window, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “You know how a witch is made, yes?” Her voice was just above a whisper.

My stomach sank like a rock. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Many would go to great lengths for power, even if it means great suffering to get there.”

“Oh, gods.” I felt sick. “And…and if these witches—the ones who share this train of thought—come into power, then what? Will they snatch young children from their beds and turn them?”

“I am only repeating what I hear, whispered in the corridors.”

“Why haven’t you put a stop to such nonsense?”

“Oh, believe me, I have tried. It has only served to drive a deeper wedge between the old and new. The new believe the council should be dissolved, and a single witch should rule supreme.”

My tea sat abandoned on the low table between us. I looked at the pastries, so perfectly frosted, and couldn’t bear to touch one. I had thought my biggest challenge was saving Rixon from a life of blood tithes. But this?

Fiona sighed. “There is nought to be done about that this moment. I summoned you because I did some digging last night.” I sat up straighter. “Every head witch in history has kept a journal…of sorts. An accounting of her deeds throughout her position. The collection is meant to assist future head witches, if they so need. I found something of interest, something that has made me question things.”

“About the portal?” I sat up straighter.

“Yes. Just a moment.” She got up and retrieved a small book from her study before taking a seat beside me. She opened it to a page marked with a ribbon. “Ophelia, the first head witch. She writes of a falling-out between the king and his advisors. I’ll let you read through it. I’ve marked all the pertinent bits with erasable charcoal, as you see.”

I took it, and began to read. Much of it was rambling, but certain passages stood out.

Kerra is angry with me again. I fear this might create a point of no return. Perhaps this is the end for us—her and I. Perhaps her love is not worth my reason. We never should have trusted Cornelius. Men with this kind of power are too dangerous. I am glad the demons ate him—though it wasn’t worth the price we have all paid, nor the price this new kingdom must pay. We should have stayed in Uscaan. We never should have crossed the sea. We never should have coveted their power.

I am a husk of regret.

I frowned, making little sense of it. Then I skipped ahead, through Ophelia’s self loathing, and landed on the next marked passage.

Kerra demands that I spek with Avrin again. I have told her: he will not budge on the matter. I do not blame him. Our betrayal has cost us. No, Cornelius’s betrayal has cost us. How could we have known what the ritual would awaken? But we should have. Ignorance is no excuse.

“Who is Avrin?” I looked up at Fiona.

“Avrin Kozma.”

My lips parted. “The first king?”

“Indeed.”

Realizing how important this was, I continued. There was more rambling. I came to the next marked place.

Padhra’s daughter was right to curse us. I still hear her screams when I sleep at night.

I glanced sharply up. “Who was Padhra’s daughter?”

Fiona sighed. “She never outright says, but in piecing it together, I believe she was the daughter of a chieftain. One of the tribal clans. Keep reading.”