Page 30 of The Faceless Queen

But as a tree branch snapped in the distance, I realized too late—I wasn’t alone. A set of footsteps stalked behind me, slow and measured, until another reflection appeared in the water beside mine. His figure was distorted as the ripples settled from my swim.

A cold, male voice filled my ears. “Princess Shamhira.”

I stopped breathing. I was still in Kalder Forest, but I’d swam too fucking far. Forgotten that the other side of the lake brought me too close, too near the borders of Eskalon, where the witches still hunted.

“Well, well, well,” he purred, “look who we have here.”

I knew his voice, his face. I always had, always would. Because in my twenty-seven years of life, and according to every other witch I’d known, his face had never changed. Never.

He was the male witch known only as the Hermit, the one who often vanished for years and reappeared at court without warning. His long black hair flowed down to his waist, and his piercing indigo-blue eyes were exactly as I remembered. According to the rumors, he’d survived the Doom. Come to Eley from the old world—not with the migration, but after. If that was true, then he was hundreds of years old. The Hermit had terrified me as a girl. He terrified me even more as an adult.

Placing a hand on his hip, his eyes met mine in the water’s reflection, almost purple in this light. “Who would ever think that I would come to find you here of all places?”

My throat tightened, my eyes burning. He lifted his stave, the tip emitting a bright blue light. Seven jewels had been embedded into the wood, one of every color of the rainbow. The light sharpened his appearance, showing off his angular features.

“What’s it been, Shamhira?” he asked. “Five years?”

“Seven,” I spat.

“Seven,” the Hermit purred. “Seven years your aunt’s been trying to find you. And seven years that you’ve been hiding.”

“I can continue hiding,” I said desperately. “There’s no reason to tell her you saw me. I’ll disappear again. I’ll change my name, change my face.”

“Why would I want you to do that?”

“Please,” I begged.

“Please? Do you think that’s enough reason for me to lie to your aunt?”

There was a flash of light from his stave.

“No!” I yelled.

Weeds from the lake rose up from the waters, tangling around my wrists, cuffing them together before looping around my ankles, leaving me completely shackled.

“Just a formality. Remain calm, and I’ll bring you home.”

I shook my head.

But he only grinned, like a wildcat. “You know, she will be so pleased when I bring you before her. So pleased,” he said again, and whistled, calling out to the witchmoth that had to be flying nearby.

I sniffled. Of course. Of fucking course this was how my night would end. Leave Geoffrey’s after years of being afraid to, only to go back to the last place I ever wanted to be. The place I’d run away from. Had vowed to never return to. The place where my mother no longer ruled, no longer resided. Because she no longer lived.

Because of me.

I shook my head, my vision blurred with tears. “So be it,” I said, resigned. It had to happen eventually. Going home, seeing my aunt. I lifted up my chin and met the Hermit’s eyes. “Bring me to the Witch Queen.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Hermit called out again, his voice the only sound in the clearing beside my labored breathing. “Erys.”

I froze, my heart thundering.

“Erys.” He whistled once more.

The pounding in my chest intensified as the witchmoth appeared above the darkened treetops and flew overhead. His blue moonstone-colored wings shimmered in the dark against the deep green of his body. Gods. Erys. He looked exactly as I remembered him. His long body was as tall as any man, and wide enough for two riders to sit comfortably on his back.

I blinked, my vision blurring with tears as he soared above the lake, his reflection lighting up the water. Circling around, he flew lower, his feet dipping into the still waters—something he’d always loved to do. Then he soared back over to the grass, landing at the feet of the Hermit with his head bowed in obedience to the male witch. My throat tightened. That obedience had once been reserved for my mother, and my mother alone.