Page 88 of The Witch and His Crow
‘Run,’ I warned the shocked air-witch. ‘Get out of here before the true evil arrives.’
He didn’t require another warning.
If the sounds weren’t growing closer, I would’ve stayed and simmered in the guilt. The Trials praised the worst in us. It rewarded the witches who were monsters too. We turned on our kin, murdering each other for the sake of survival and success.
It sure as fuck didn’t feel good.
I turned my back on the ruined hallway and the dead. I limped, boots crunching glass, as I made it to the door. I laid my hand on the wood and willed for it to open. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn’t. But my intuition told me that the door would open for me, and it did.
As the screeching demons raced for their feast of dead witches, I slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. By morning, we’d need to find a new place to hide out.
Pressing my back to the door, I slumped to the ground, clutching the grimoire to my bruised body. I blinked away remorse, taking a moment to catch my breath. Jaz had broken my ribs and split my skin, but I had killed her. Repeating history. A history I wasn’t even aware of.
I’m surprised your little coven-mate didn’t tell you. I wonder what else Romy keeps from you…
By the time my world settled, and the screams of enjoyment from the dark creatures outside the door settled, I opened my eyes to find legs before me. Looking up, Romy was standing above me. Hands on her hips, tired eyes creased with disappointment, she looked at me as though I had shattered her world.
No, not her world—her trust.
‘What have you done, Hector?’ Romy spoke as though her words were both an accusation and a question.
My arms shook as I lifted the grimoire up to her. ‘Did what…was required of me…to savehim.’
Romy snatched the book from my hand. My arm fell back to my lap, even the tips of my fingers aching. ‘At what cost?’ she asked, voice dripping with disappointment.
I hung my chin to my chest, unable to look her in the eyes.
Romy didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. Instead, she turned her back on me, paced towards Arwyn’s side, and left me to simmer in pain and regret. I’d never felt exhaustion likethis. It was as if my body punished me for betraying Romy, for risking my life. But although the regret was strong, if it saved Arwyn, it would be for something. Ithadto be for something.
I closed my eyes, giving in to the darkness. My head swam with symbols and images as though the ghost of Eleanor’s grimoire taunted me. The adrenaline finally left me, allowing me to slip into the ether until I was left tired and weak. My body was bloodied, bruised, and broken. Even if Romy’s body was not infected with thistlebane, smothering her gift, I don’t think she would’ve healed me anyway.
I deserved the punishment for poisoning her, even if it was an accident, I'd meant to betray her.
I was lucky to have gotten out of that alive, but it had come at the cost of three witches’ lives. As I slipped into sleep, I wondered if my mother felt like this during her time in the Witch Trials. Is this why she longed to never allow for the contest to happen again? Then another thought came, thick and fast.
The demons. Had she discovered a dark truth about the contest? More than just murdering witches and betraying friends? I wished I could ask her. I wished she could guide me through what was happening, the clash of old and new magic.
But alas, she was dead.
And I was lucky not to be.
I woketo fingers of light cutting through the window across the room. At least I thought that was what I woke to. Instead, it was the deep coughing that came from the bed. I snapped my head towards it, pain radiating from my body. None of it mattered when I saw who was sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
‘Arwyn?’ My voice croaked. The bed sheet had fallen down from his chest, revealing skin no longer marred by dark black veins. He met my stare and for a moment I was confident I saw panic fill his sky-bright eyes.
‘What happened to you?’ Arwyn asked, voice hoarse from days of disuse.
I looked down, seeing dried blood across my clothes and skin. It was the damage beneath that really mattered. Arwyn then looked around the room, noticing the other detail I had missed in my relief.
Romy was gone.
‘Romy?’ I called out, looking in every corner of the room to find it empty. I shouted her name again, louder the second time. ‘Romy!’
I made a move to stand, despite the agony in my body. My boot knocked something. It was Eleanor’s grimoire, lying on the ground beside where I rested. A slip of paper was placed inside. I picked it up, opening it to a page that spoke of a salve to stave off evil and rejuvenate health. On the paper that was acting as a bookmark was rushed handwriting.
I read it once, and then again, letting the words sink in.I hope it was worth it.
‘Hector,’ Arwyn said, wincing as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
