“Tea, my queen?” Vesna asked.
My stomach turned at the thought of consuming the bitter drink.
“Why don’t you each have a cup?” I suggested instead. Nothing tasted quite right to me still.
They thanked me, and since I was already dressed, we sat together while they sipped tea.
“Were you able to continue celebrating Winter’s Eve?” I asked.
“It did not feel so much like a celebration after what happened last night,” said Violeta.
There was a pause, and then Vesna spoke.
“Do you think that man is…actually alive?”
“No,” I said.
I dreaded thinking of what may happen—what may have already happened. I was sure Efram’s wife had realized by now that the resurrected version of her husband was not the same man.
“That man…Solaris,” said Violeta. “He seems…cursed.”
“How so?” I asked.
“It’s as if he traded some part of himself for that hand,” she said. “It is the only piece of him that seems to have any magic, though I hesitate to call it such.”
I did not disagree, and it was one reason I questioned whether the man was truly a creation of Dis.
We sat in silence after that, each of us lost in our own thoughts, and shortly after, they rose to leave.
“Violeta, a moment?” I asked just as she reached the door.
She paused, her eyes widening, and I sensed she thought she was in trouble. She quickly collected herself and nodded. “Of course, my queen.”
She traded a look with Vesna before she closed the door, remaining near it like she was preparing to bolt.
“Please sit,” I said, directing her to the chair she had occupied before she had risen to leave.
She unclasped her hands, rubbing them against her apron before taking a seat.
“I wanted to ask you a question,” I began, strangely feeling just as nervous as she was acting. “Before I do, I want you to know there will be no consequences whatever you decide. I just want you to be honest.”
“If this is about Commander Killian, I can explain,” she blurted out, as if she could barely contain the words.
I was stunned. “What?”
An awkward silence followed. “Is that not what you wished to speak to me about?” she asked, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“It is now,” I said and could not help smiling. Then I added, “That is if you wish to tell.”
She fidgeted, twisting her fingers together over and over.
“It was just one kiss,” she said. “I did not mean for it to happen. It never will again, I promise.”
“I hope that isn’t true,” I said. “Unless, of course, that is what you want.”
Violeta looked surprised. “What?”
“Do you like Killian, Violeta?”
She hesitated and her blush deepened. “He is very kind,” she said. “And brave.”
My smile felt ridiculously wide and I giggled. “Then you should most definitely kiss him more than once.”
“You are not…angry?”
“Why would I be angry?”
“I suppose I just assumed you would be, given that you are…close with Commander Killian.”
“Killian is my friend,” I said. “He is free to kiss whoever he likes, as are you.”
She pressed the palms of her hands to her face. “It happened so fast.”
“The kiss?”
“Well, no. The kiss was long.” She paused and then hid her face. “We just got there sooner than I expected.”
After a moment, she dropped her hands into her lap. I was still smiling at her bashfulness—a feeling I had never known. It was cute to watch, and I liked the idea of Killian and Violeta together.
“Commander Killian is a good man,” I said. “He will take care of you…if you wish.”
“Thank you, my queen,” she said and took a breath. “Um, what did you wish to speak to me about?”
I took a moment, mourning that we had to make this transition, but it was important and urgent.
“Do you remember when you told me Evanora was your ancestor?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered warily, and I saw a hint of her fear—a spark of the trauma we shared deep in her bones.
“Do you have magic, Violeta?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I think if you have to ask, then you likely know,” I said. “I need your help.”
“I am a servant,” she said, and already I felt her building a wall between us.
“Ana and I are going to attempt to contain the crimson mist. It is possible the mist is also responsible for the blood plague. If that is the case, we have the chance to eradicate both,” I explained. “But we need a third witch.”
Violeta had stopped fidgeting, her hands now clasped tightly in her lap. It seemed this did not make her as nervous as kissing Killian.
“Are you asking me or ordering?”
“I will not order you to help cast,” I said. “Your participation must be genuine or the spell will fail.”
She was quiet, considering my words, and then she took a breath. “And what about the witch-hunter?”
“You have no need to fear Solaris,” I said.
In truth, I no longer believed he was a witch-hunter at all. That was just a ruse to endear himself to Adrian’s court.
“Magic will always be dangerous so long as women practice,” she said. “No one wants us to be powerful. They taught us that once, and they will teach us again.”
Her words filled me with dread and disappointment.
She was saying no.
“I hope you are wrong,” was all I could say.
We were quiet, both of us observing the other, then she stood. “High Coven always tried to help people too. It got them killed.”
“High Coven became docile,” I said. “That is what got them killed.”
She did not like my comment. Her nostrils flared as she took in a breath.
“One spell,” she said. “I will help you with one spell.”
“Thank you, Violeta,” I whispered and then cleared my throat. “I will find you later. We do not have long to practice.”
She curtsied, and when she left, relief washed over me, so intense, I burst into tears.
***
Sorin and I were back in the training room, but this time, we sat opposite one another, our legs crossed. I had not seen him since our last session, and I felt the distance between us. I wanted to say something, apologize for getting involved in his relationship with Daroc, but I did not know if he even wanted to approach the topic, so I stayed silent as he instructed me on how to shift into my animal form.
He was describing how it felt for him—how he always felt like his sternum was being cracked and ripped apart, how his ribs seemed to break and puncture his lungs, and just when he thought he couldn’t breathe, he was flying—free.
I frowned. “Does it always hurt so bad?”
My body tensed involuntarily at the reminder of how awful it had been. How my bones had seemed to be breaking, rearranging, lengthening. How claws had burst from my fingers and fangs from my mouth. The process was bloody and awful, and the fact that it would continue to be made me dread this even more.