How ridiculous I am. Two dead strangers and I’m still desperate for their approval.
“I don’t know,” I answer Leon. “I don’t know if anything I’ve been told is true.” I’m going to find out, though. That’s something else I’ve decided in these long, soul-searching hours.
“There’s one way to work out that potion’s true purpose.”
Leon tries to hand the vial back to me, but I don’t take it.
“There’s only a tiny amount of it left anyway,” I say. “You keep it, and we’ll see what happens when I don’t take any more.”
Alastor shifts, his eyes wide.
“Er, sorry to be the voice of reason, but we’re not really in the market for a dead princess right now.”
Interesting. His alarm is genuine—most of what Alastor says seems to be unfiltered, in fact. I suppose when you can compel people to tell the truth, lying is kind of pointless. So if he’s sincere, then maybe they really don’t want to kill me after all.
“I could be completely fine,” I say. I’ve been feeling sick, true. But that could be growing pains from my magic emerging. Or perhaps my body’s going through withdrawal from the potion, like a drunk unable to get his daily dose of liquor.
“If it looks like I’m about to die, give me what’s left,” I say, releasing a heavy breath.
I look to the Nightmare Prince, who hasn’t spoken. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I think there’s a hint of approval in his expression.
“Alright,” he says, tucking the vial into his pocket. I watch it disappear, and a lurch of fear grips me. Twenty-one years I’ve depended on that stuff, and now I’m willingly letting the last of it out of my sight, handing it to a fae who a week ago I would’ve called my parents’ murderer.
Now that everything else in my life has been turned upside down, I’m far less certain about that fact. But still, talk about throwing caution to the wind.
The fae let me settle down without further discussion. Alastor offers me food he bought at the trading post, but neither ask me more questions. I think they both realize I need some rest. At least I have my new dress and cloak to keep me warm. It feels like weeks ago that I stood at the dressmaker’s stall. So much has happened since then. The Ana who snuck away, trusting blindly in a stranger, feels totally different from the one who nearly set a forest on fire.
As I sit looking into the fire, I wonder if I could do it again. Cautiously, I search inside myself for that warmth, the ember that flared into a searing heat and blinding rays. But just like before, my efforts are met with nothing. I can’t find wherever my power has gone. Even now, knowing what might have kept it hidden all these years.
I feel a set of eyes turn in my direction, and I see Leon watching me. I think he knows what I’m trying to do, and I feel myself flush, though I don’t know why I’d be embarrassed. Still, his gaze elicits a different kind of heat. I think about his hands on me in the forest, the way they held me, solid and immoveable in a spinning world.
I wish to feel that same sense of security as I lie down to sleep, but the gods don’t grant me my wish.
Instead, my head continues to pound, keeping me awake, tossing and turning long after the fire has died out. My neck is damp with a cold sweat, and when I close my eyes, swirls of color dance behind them.
And then the nightmares start.
Bede’s corpse pins me down as I choke for air.
My parents’ bodies lie together in their bed, drenched in blood.
A hooded figure stands over me in the palace, a knife in his hand.
The images spin before me, one after another, and nothing I do can block them out. When I try to open my mouth to scream, it stays clamped shut. With no other way out, I run.
I turn from the images, looking to get away from this parade of death. But I only find myself in a new scene: Me, on the dais in Elmere palace, surrounded by the members of my court. Only this time I’m bound, my hands in shackles, and the palace cleric Nunias stands beside me. His crimson robes swirl around him as he raises the sword in his hand.
“Morgana Angevire, you are charged with crimes against the gods,” he intones.
No.
I struggle against my chains, but my magic can’t help me now. Nothing can.
No!
I’m innocent—why can’t they see that? I could no more steal a god’s power than I could kill one. And yet I know the holy man is preparing to execute me.
In the crowd, my aunt Oclanna weeps into her husband’s shoulder. And beside her…
