Sawyn’s green eyes gleamed, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “Leanna,” she said. “Leanna Marriel.”
Leanna Marriel.
“Impossible,” I wheezed. “I saw the books in Taigos. Leanna died.”
“I clearly didn’t die,” she sneered. “I transformed. Evolved beyond that which they made me to be.”
“No . . .”
“Look at me,” Sawyn said, waving her hand at her face and down her body. “Who do I remind you of?”
I scanned her—the shape of her face and nose, the color of her hair. “Briar.”
“The Marriel line was strong with the Crimson Princess.” Sawyn brushed her dark red braid over her shoulder. “They used to call me that, too, once upon a time, though for very different reasons.” Her sharp green eyes bored into me. The same eyes as mine. “You take more after Rose. A beauty, no doubt, but nothing like royalty.”
She stared off at the wall as if staring through time. There were similarities, for sure, but that also made it feel uncanny to be looking at her. She should’ve looked decades older, but she seemed no older than Briar and me, her true age no doubt hidden by her magic. No wonder she was so unconcerned with her successors. Her dark magic would make her age at a snail’s pace, and I’m guessing she wouldn’t even care at that point.
“Who was it that made you turn toward dark magic?” I whispered, bile rising in my throat. “Who did you kill?”
She arched her narrow brow. “I’ve killed many people.”
“But there had to have been a first. A sorceress is created through death magic,” I said, wincing as I swallowed. “When you cursed my mother, you were already a sorceress, which means you killed someone before . . .” My eyes widened as I thought back to that dusty tome in Taigos. The day Leanna died, another died, too. “You killed your brother, didn’t you?”
She tried to hide her surprise, but I saw it there for a split second—the widening of her eyes, her mouth going slack. How many decades had it been since anyone asked her about this? Since she had even thought about it herself? Did she believe her violent beginnings were lost to time?
“Very good, Princess. I’m somewhat impressed, considering how little you seem to know about your own family.”
“And whose fault is that?” I asked with as much venom as I could muster.
“Touché,” she said with what seemed to be genuine humor. “Yes, my darling brother’s blood was my gateway to this power. I was about to turn sixteen—they were going to send me off to Valta, a country I’d never seen, to marry a man I’d never met.” Sawyn clasped her hands together, staring out the high window at a sliver of blue sky. Her voice was tinged with her own venom as she stared back through time. “Sahandr had to die. Then my parents couldn’t ship their only heir off to the Onyx Wolves.” She rolled her shoulders back, her posture belying the rage in her eyes. “But they didn’t see it that way. They said they could sire more pups, have more sons. They tried to kill me for what I’d done to him.” Her chest rose and fell faster. “And so I disappeared, faked my death, bided my time while I honed my new powers. I thought sorcery would enslave me to its dark magic, but it was what set me free.”
A draft blew in, the breeze tousling the wisps of scarlet hair around her temples. The crazed look on her face seemed equally filled with wrath and joy.
“And then my father was born,” I murmured.
“I had hoped Sameir would be a better man than our father. When my parents died, I went to him, asked him to hand over what was rightfully mine, but he refused.”
“What did you expect? You killed his brother!” I cried, my restraints biting into my wrists. “And you turned into a sorceress! Wolves swore to rid the world of dark magic. Why would he honor the claim of a sorceress and an oath breaker, family or not?”
“Because the crown should’ve been mine,” she seethed, her eyes darkening as static charged the air. “He usurped my throne.” Flashes of green lightning skittered across the ceiling. “Which means my will should have been pack law, and I above such accusations. But no one saw it that way. No one thought a mere woman could be anything but a depository for another Wolf’s pups. And so I showed him just how wrong he—and everyone else—was. You know the story, of course. I believe there are some lovely songs about it.”
I thought about trying to sing at Queen Ingrid’s palace, and how much it had devastated me then. Now, though, I found it oddly gave me strength, because I did know the story—the one Grae pointed out to me wasn’t all darkness and death. Her jibe missing its mark, I asked instead, “Why didn’t you just kill my parents back then?”