Her fingers gripped my chin hard enough to bruise. “Tell me again about their tolerance, Louise. Tell me again about the monsters you call friends. Tell me about your time with them—about how you spit on your sisters’ suffering.”
“Maman, please.” Tears leaked down my face. “I know they’ve wronged us—and I know you hate them—and I understand. But you cannot do this. We can’t change the past, but we can move forward and heal—together. We can share this land. No one else needs to die.”
She only gripped my chin harder, leaning down next to my ear. “You are weak, Louise, but do not fear. I will not falter. I will not hesitate. I will make them suffer as we have suffered.”
Releasing me, she straightened with a deep breath, and I toppled to the wagon floor. “The Lyons will rue the day they stole this land. Their people will writhe and thrash on the stake, and the king and his children will choke on your blood. Your husband will choke on your blood.”
Confusion flared briefly before hideous despair consumed me, obliterating all rational thought. This was my mother—my mother—and these were her people. That was my husband, and those were his. Each side despicable—a twisted perversion of what should’ve been. Each side suffering. Each side capable of great evil.
And then there was me.
The salt of my tears mingled with the jasmine in my hair, two sides of the same wretched coin. “And what of me, Maman? Did you ever love me?”
She frowned, her eyes more black than green in the darkness. “It matters not.”
“It matters to me!”
“Then you are a fool,” she said coldly. “Love is a nothing but a disease. This desperation you have to be loved—it is a sickness. I can see in your eyes how it consumes you, weakens you. Already it has corrupted your spirit. You long for his love as you long for mine, but you will have neither. You’ve chosen your path.” Her lip curled. “Of course I do not love you, Louise. You are the daughter of my enemy. You were conceived for a higher purpose, and I will not poison that purpose with love. With your birth, I struck the Church. With your death, I strike the crown. Both will soon fall.”
“Maman—”
“Enough.” The word was quiet, deadly. A warning. “We will reach the Chateau soon.”
Unable to endure the cruel indifference on my mother’s face, I closed my eyes in defeat. I soon wished I hadn’t. Another face lingered behind my eyelids, taunting me.
You are not my wife.
If this agony was love, perhaps Morgane was right. Perhaps I was better off without it.
Chateau le Blanc stood atop a cliff overlooking the sea. True to its name, the castle had been built of white stone that shone in the moonlight like a beacon. I gazed at it longingly, eyes tracing the narrow, tapering towers that mingled with the stars. There—on the tallest western turret, overlooking the rocky beach below—was my childhood room. My heart lurched into my mouth.
When the wagon creaked to the gatehouse, I lowered my gaze. The le Blanc family signet had been carved into the ancient doors: a crow with three eyes. One for the Maiden, one for the Mother, and one for the Crone.
I’d always hated that dirty old bird.
Dread crept through me as the doors closed behind us with ringing finality. Silence cloaked the snowy courtyard, but I knew witches lingered just out of sight. I could feel their eyes on me—probing, assessing. The very air tingled with their presence.
“Manon will accompany you day and night until Modraniht. Should you attempt to flee,” Morgane warned, eyes cold and cruel, “I will butcher your huntsman and feed you his heart. Do you understand?”
Fear froze the scathing reply on my tongue.
She nodded with a sleek smile. “Your silence is golden, darling. I cherish it in our conversations.” Turning her attention to an alcove out of my sight, she shouted something. Within seconds, two hunched women I vaguely recognized emerged. My old nursemaids. “Accompany her to her room, please, and assist Manon while she sees to her wounds.”
They both nodded fervently. One stepped forward and cupped my face in her withered palms. “At last you have returned, ma?tresse. We have waited so long.”
“Only three days remain,” the other crooned, kissing my hand, “until you may join the Goddess in the Summerland.”
“Three?” I glanced to Morgane in alarm.
“Yes, darling. Three. Soon, you will fulfill your destiny. Our sisters will feast and dance in your honor forevermore.”