The Cursed Rose, page 23
“I can help with that,” Fi said. Perrin had started to disappear little by little, his blue robe running like drops of water. “There’s a door beneath the eastern tower,” she said, remembering the outer gate where she’d given up on her escape. “I’ll make sure it’s unlocked. Follow the blue pennants, and there’s a path straight to the library. I’ll be there—and so will the Spindle Witch. Tell Shane to be careful.”
Perrin chuckled, even as the rest of his body began to shimmer. “Shane says she doesn’t want to hear that from someone who threw herself off a cliff.”
Fi choked on a little laugh. That sounded exactly like Shane.
“I don’t think I can hold this any longer,” Perrin admitted. The mist was so thick Fi was breathing it. Then her eyes widened.
“Wait!” Fi said, grabbing him. “Can you do one more thing for me? Can you put me in Briar’s dream? There’s something I need to ask him.”
“Fi, it took everything I had to find you. Making a connection with him, too . . .” Perrin was little more than a translucent body with uncertain eyes, held together as precariously as a raindrop.
“But there’s already a connection.” Fi lifted her hand, the one that was always tangled in golden thread. “Briar’s at the other end,” she promised. “Please, Perrin.”
“I’ll try,” he whispered, and even though he was almost invisible, she could make out the crease of his smile. “But I’ve only been a full-fledged dream Witch for a few days, you know.”
The golden thread rose from Fi’s hand, hovering in the air. In the space between heartbeats, Fi felt like she saw Perrin in the boat, and then a flash of the glorious dreamscape of Evista Lake, and then it was like the water was rising all around her, a great torrent of rain surging up from the ground. It surrounded her in a rush. The last thing she felt was Perrin’s hand on her back giving her a gentle shove.
Fi stumbled forward into a dream she had never seen before. A baby wailed while a blond-haired woman in a high four-poster bed reached desperately toward it. The baby was ashen and weak, barely moving in the bassinet that spilled over with rich blankets.
“Please,” the woman was begging, “please don’t let him die. I would pay any price—just save my baby. Save Briar Rose.”
The Spindle Witch swept over to the bed, her long black skirts trailing, and Fi realized with a start exactly what she was seeing. This was the moment the queen had bargained for the life of her child—the moment the Spindle Witch had betrayed Andar.
Fi took a step backward and collided with something solid. The breath left her lungs as she looked up to find the creature with the horned skull beside her. The last flickering bits of red in the empty eye sockets were focused on the memory playing out before them.
“Any price, Your Majesty?” the Spindle Witch asked, eyes glittering.
“Any price, Spindle Witch,” the queen agreed, sealing her own fate.
A smile spread across the Spindle Witch’s lips. She reached beneath her veil, pulling forth a long golden thread and twirling it through her fingers. Tears streamed down the queen’s face as she scooted to the edge of the bed, wrapping the baby’s tiny hand in her own.
The Spindle Witch loomed over them. She looped the end of her golden thread like she was tying a knot and then reached down and slipped it into the baby’s chest, right over his heart, her deft fingers pulling the end tight. She attached the other end to the queen.
She was draining the life from Briar’s mother and giving it to him, Fi realized. The color drained from the queen as her life was sucked away, and the baby began to move again, his crystal-blue eyes opening. The Spindle Witch stood over the dead queen and the baby and cooed. Her golden braid slipped out from under the veil.
And then suddenly the baby was crying again, and the queen was alive in the bed, reaching for him. The memory had started over. Briar’s mother begged for the life of her baby, and the Spindle Witch exacted her promise, reaching up under her veil and tying a golden thread around the baby’s heart. The memory played over and over.
“I don’t understand,” Fi said, turning to the skeletal creature.
The skull head tipped, those last pinpricks of red burning into Fi. He reached for the golden thread stretching from his empty chest. Behind them, the Spindle Witch reached under her veil, pulling the golden thread, tying it around the baby’s heart.
Where does it lead? he begged.
Suddenly, Fi understood what Briar had been trying to tell her all along.
* * *
• • •
she woke with a start in front of a dull pane of glass. Fi surged to her feet, knocking over her chair as she leaned into the desk, breathing hard.
Shakily, she put the chair back on its feet. Hours had passed, by the position of the shadows in the room, and it would be night soon. Fi didn’t imagine she would sleep a wink. She had a lot to do in the next six days.
21
Shane
“this is the best and final chance we will ever have to beat the Spindle Witch. All that we have sacrificed and all we have waited for has been for this. The time is now.”
The Paper Witch curled a fist in front of his heart as he spoke. Shane had never seen him looking so regal. He had donned a white robe with a silver sash, and his long hair hung loose for the first time in Shane’s memory. He looked like Briar, like Aurora, like a Great Rose Witch.
Her eyes snuck over to the stunned faces of the Witches. They were gathered in the largest of the three towers, Everlynd’s temporary headquarters. The Paper Witch had explained everything, including what they knew about the silver-eyed, body-snatching Witch, who had sealed his fate the moment he dared to lay a hand on Red. The only thing he’d kept back was the truth about the butterfly pin being untested.
A day ago, Shane wouldn’t have dreamed she’d be standing here with Perrin and the Paper Witch, trying to convince the most important people in Everlynd to march on their own castle. A day ago, Shane hadn’t known if her partner was alive. Now she knew that, and so much more, thanks to Perrin’s new dream magic.
Shane didn’t have any more doubts—in her plan or in her partner. But she seemed to be the only one who felt that way.
The tower was crowded with so many people that the strong oak tables and iron candle braces had been pushed together to make room for more to stand—but somehow nobody had a word to say. Shane’s gaze moved along the table, jumping from person to person. The Seer Witch with her wizened hands folded in her lap, the Stone Witch with his head bowed, and Captain Hane, who was nodding cautiously, her arms folded over her leather jerkin. The clump of soldiers and guards standing behind her traded wary looks.
The only person willing meet Shane’s eyes was Nikor, who sat slumped in a chair with his richly embroidered robes bunched around him. His hard expression as his gaze raked over the three of them told her he definitely wasn’t on their side. Shane wasn’t surprised. Nikor and the Paper Witch had some kind of bad history. Nikor’s cousin and Perrin had some kind of bad history. All they were missing was Red, and then they’d have the trifecta of Witches the steward couldn’t stand. Luckily, Red and Cinzel had opted out of the council meeting.
Shane gritted her teeth, fisting one impatient hand into her long red coat. The Paper Witch had warned her to let him and Perrin do most of the talking. In fact, his exact words had been Yelling at the council, while highly satisfying, would be perilously counterproductive. Shane agreed in principle, but she was dangerously close to testing that theory.
At least Armand Bellicia wasn’t smirking at her from somewhere in this snake pit. After being thoroughly wrung out for information by Captain Hane, he’d been given one of Everlynd’s precious few horses and sent back—ostensibly to warn the Border Guards in Darfell, but Shane wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was just fleeing with his tail between his legs. She honestly hoped she’d never see that cockroach again.
The silence dragged out. Perrin shot a glance at the Paper Witch and then cleared his throat. “I know we’re asking a lot . . .” he began.
Nikor scoffed. “You’re asking the impossible. You want us to leave the camp undefended and march through the waste and impassable Forest of Thorns right up to the Spindle Witch’s door. And we’re supposed to do all of this on your say-so.” He waved a dismissive hand. “A Witch who gave up his seat on this council, a boy who’s yet to take his, and an outsider with no business in this room at all.”
A growl was building in Shane’s throat, but the Paper Witch waved her back. “You and I have debated this point many times, Nikor.” His blue eyes, usually so cheerful, seemed a little dangerous as he stared the other man down. “The moment Briar Rose awakened, a war that was stopped in time for a hundred years began again, whether you like it or not.”
“Spare me your proselytizing,” Nikor spat. “Everlynd was among the first casualties of that war, and I hold you responsible for that, Paper Witch.”
Everyone in the room stiffened. Shane could tell the memory of Everlynd burning was still raw. Nikor’s fingers had wound into a fist, angry knuckles bulging.
“The last time we listened to you, we lost everything. And now you come here asking us to march out tomorrow. That doesn’t even give us enough time to recall the farthest scouts or secure the city.”
“There’s no time,” Shane snapped, sick of holding her tongue. “Were you listening to anything we said? It has to be now!”
Nikor’s eyes burned into hers. Shane had a feeling he would have thrown her out of the tower himself if it didn’t require getting out of his chair. The Paper Witch settled a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Time favors the Spindle Witch more than it favors us,” he said, looking at Captain Hane. “Her forces are only growing stronger.”
“I’m all for haste,” Hane agreed. “For every Witch Hunter we catch on patrol, there are more running off to join the Spindle Witch. She’s got us badly outmatched already.”
“Well, then, by all means, let’s march right into the teeth of it,” Nikor hissed sarcastically.
“Temper, temper,” the Seer Witch said mildly, but she didn’t disagree with him.
One of the soldiers behind Captain Hane, a hard-faced man with a grizzled beard whose pale skin was marked with scars, stepped forward. “I’m sorry to speak out of turn, but there’s something none of you are addressing. Even saying the soldiers make it through the thorns and the Witch Hunters and those monsters of bone—what are we supposed to do then? You said the people of the castle are likely being controlled. You expect us to kill our own countrymen?”
“You won’t have to.” This time, it was Perrin who stepped forward. In a midnight-blue robe that swept from his shoulders, he looked more impressive than usual, striking and powerful. “It’s not going to come to that, because I’m going to go in ahead of you and wake them all up. They’re only able to be controlled because the Spindle Witch trapped them under the sleeping curse cast by my great-aunt, the Dream Witch. I’m going to break it for good.”
A murmur of disbelief rushed through the room. For the first time, the ancient Stone Witch raised his head. “You, Perrin?” he asked, regarding the young man thoughtfully.
Perrin nodded. “Yes. I’ve discovered my medium, and my magic is stronger now than I ever imagined. I can do this—and when I do, I won’t be Perrin any longer. I’ll be the next Dream Witch.”
That seemed to shut everybody up. Shane felt hope rising in her chest, her eyes darting around the room as Captain Hane leaned on her fisted hand, glancing back at the grizzled soldier who had spoken up.
“It’s a good plan,” Hane said.
The man gave a hesitant nod. “It is . . . except for the part where this whole plan hinges on a girl my son’s age being able to defeat the immortal Spindle Witch.”
The Paper Witch spoke before Shane could break the no-yelling embargo again. “The weapon left by the Lord of the Butterflies is very specific,” he explained patiently. “It can be wielded by no other, and even if it could, there’s no one I would trust more with this task. I wasn’t the one who chose her—the Rose Witch and the enchantment on the bone spindle did. That should mean something to all of you.”
Shane waited with bated breath as the members of the council bent their heads together, talking in low voices. A heavy feeling sank in her gut as she watched Nikor shaking his head at Captain Hane, the Witches quietly withdrawn, the soldiers arguing in hushed tones. Fi was an outsider, too, and for many of these people, Andar was just an old story. Fear of the Spindle Witch loomed over them. With every second that passed, Shane could feel them losing.
“It’s such a risk . . .” someone whispered.
Shane didn’t even know who said it, but that was all it took to push her over the edge. She strode forward and slammed her hands down onto the table, making the candles and the council members jump.
“What is wrong with you people?” Shane shouted. “You’re arguing over nothing! You’ve already lost Everlynd. You’re living in a crumbling, burnt-out hole, struggling just to stay alive. Are you going to let the Spindle Witch chase you from one end of Andar to the other until she’s killed the last of you off?”
Her words hung in the air like a crack of thunder. Shane was about ready to flip the tables and get right up in Nikor’s face when Perrin brushed past her, mouthing, I got it from here.
“I know we’re all frightened of the Spindle Witch,” Perrin said. “And Nikor’s right—I don’t have a seat on this council yet. But my parents did. And you listened to them. Because deep down, no matter how terrified you are, you know they were right.” He spun to address the entire room. “We’re not just the last survivors of Andar, hiding away to save ourselves. We’re more than that. We’re the seeds of Andar’s rebirth. And if we give up on this fight now, everything we’ve been working to preserve all these years will be for nothing.”
The Paper Witch added one last plea. “You have a friend inside the castle, and you have a weapon that could defeat the Spindle Witch. You will never have another chance like this one.”
Shane was tired of giving them chances. She’d made up her mind. “I’m heading out tomorrow, even if I’m going alone.”
Perrin threw her a look. “Well, you won’t be alone.”
“I will fight with you,” the Paper Witch said.
“And so will I.” The Stone Witch got slowly to his feet as he spoke, and Shane almost imagined she could feel the earth rumbling far beneath them, taking their side. Or maybe that was just the rush of excitement she felt as Captain Hane rose, too, giving Shane a quick smile.
“We’ll be with you,” she promised. The soldiers behind her were nodding, too, even the man with the grizzled beard. Suddenly, everyone in the room was agreeing, rising from their chairs and clapping each other on the shoulders.
All eyes turned to Nikor. The steward sat with his fingers steepled, pressed against his brow. Shane knew she was asking for trouble, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“It seems the people of Everlynd have spoken,” she said.
Nikor’s eyes flashed with outrage. But it faded fast, the ember of an old and tired anger withering as he rose reluctantly to his feet. “It seems they have,” he agreed. His rich cape flared as he threw a hand in Shane’s direction. “To the castle, then. And to victory!”
Shane almost couldn’t believe it. She and Perrin traded a very undignified thumbs-up that made the Paper Witch shake his head.
“Then it’s decided,” the Paper Witch said. “The Stone Witch and I will make a path through the Forest of Thorns.”
“I’ll head to the castle to break the sleeping curse and free the people trapped there,” Perrin added.
“And I’ll get the weapon to Fi so she can destroy the Spindle Witch once and for all,” Shane finished.
Captain Hane met her eyes. “We’ll hold her armies off for as long as it takes,” she said, the words a little grim.
“And we’ll all hope this girl is worthy of the faith you’re putting in her,” Nikor muttered, apparently unable to resist getting the last word.
Shane didn’t care. The old coward could gripe and grumble all he wanted, because in the morning, she’d be marching for the castle—with the full might of Everlynd behind her, just as they’d promised. She’d won the first battle, and she’d be damned if she lost the next one.
She just had to talk to one more person.
22
Red
red hummed softly to herself, stroking her hand through Cinzel’s coarse fur. They were tucked up in the little house, and Cinzel was asleep on his side in front of the fire, his great floppy head resting on Red’s pooled black skirts. His paws twitched as he dreamed about chasing something, and he let out a little whine. Red soothed him with her voice, murmuring a small snatch of an old lullaby. Her fingers dug into his shaggy pelt until she could feel the soft fur of his undercoat. His ear twitched in satisfaction as she gave him a vigorous belly scratch.
Cinzel was more like a dog than a wolf sometimes. Red had made him that way—maybe more so than she had ever realized.
Her fingers stilled in the white fur as her thoughts drifted back to the Snake Witch. Red had thought she was nothing like her ancestor, but now she was starting to wonder.
She imagined the young Witch from Perrin’s memory with her hands cupped protectively around the little stoat. The towering figure depicted in statues and paintings with her snake familiar wound over her arm. The monster the Witch Hunters spoke of, enchanting beasts to obey her will. The woman who stood on the bank of a lake, entrusting her heart to another.
