The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

The question came softly, and it hit her like a blow.

She understood it at once. She understood what lay beneath it, the three pairs of eyes fixed on her face, the careful patience, the open door held wide and waiting. They were not asking about Astraea. They were asking about her. They wanted her to speak. They wanted to hear her say it herself, without being pushed.

Witch.

The word rose in her throat and stuck.

She opened her mouth. For one dizzy instant the whole room tipped toward her, and she thought, I could. It would be so easy. I could say it and they would not be angry. I know they would not.

And her mother’s voice, thin and fierce and hoarse with fear, said from far away, If they find out, they will take you. They will use you. They will never let you go.

Ma.

Promise me, Morgana.

The words would not come.

She sat there with her mouth half open, and her hands went cold, and her heart began to pound so hard that she could feel it in her ears. She tried to speak. She tried to say anything at all, no or yes or I don’t know, and each one dissolved before it reached her tongue.

”No,” she heard herself say at last. It came out small. ”That’s all of it.”

Thorne held her eyes for a long moment.

Then he sat back.

There was no anger in his face. There was nothing she could name at all, only a stillness that seemed to take a long time to settle.

Kaelen had been watching her.

His expression had changed. The restless edge had gone out of it. He was looking at her with the same sharp, searching attention he had turned on the training dummy that morning, and when he spoke, his voice was low.

”Do you know any dragon outside the palace, Morgana?”

The room went silent.

She stared at him.

She did not mean to. She felt the blood leave her face, felt her eyes widen, felt the world slow and narrow to a single point. Dragon. The word hung in the air like a struck bell. The mountain, the cave, the long vast shape in the dark with its chain, the warm breath that had stirred her hair when she was fourteen years old.

How do they know?

They can’t know.

Astraea. Did she....

She shook her head.

It was a small movement, jerky and stiff. She shook it again, slowly, and her gaze dropped to her hands. They lay twisted in the folds of her skirt, white at the knuckles. She stared at them as though they belonged to somebody else.

”No,” she whispered.

The firelight popped.

Across the room, the three brothers looked at one another.

It was a quick exchange, almost wordless. Kaelen’s jaw had set. Thorne’s eyes were dark and unreadable. Draeven’s face had not moved, but she saw the faintest tilt of his head toward the others, a small, deliberate shake. Leave it. The motion was so slight she might have imagined it.

Kaelen’s mouth tightened. He looked at her once more, bowed head, shaking hands, the stiff small shoulders. Something in his face gave way.

He rose.

He crossed the room without hurry, his steps soft on the old rug, and stopped in front of her chair. Then he did something she did not expect. He lowered himself, slowly, until he was crouching on his heels with his face level with hers.

”Morgana.”

She did not look up.

”Look at me.”

She did. His eyes were very blue and very near. The hard edge was gone out of them. There was only a plain, grave kindness that made her throat ache.

”You don’t need to say anything now.”

She swallowed.

”You don’t have to tell us anything today. Not one word. If you want to, you will. When you’re ready.” His voice was low and steady. ”We will not push.”

Her eyes stung. She stared at him.

”All right?”

She nodded. It was all she could do.

”Good.” He let out a breath. A corner of his mouth curved, small and rueful. ”Then let me ask you something easier.”

She almost laughed. It came out as a hiccup. ”Easier.”

”Dinner. Tonight. With the three of us.” He held her gaze. ”Will you come?”

She looked at him.

She thought of the cold fear in her stomach, and the wide pale sky on the ridge, and a man’s hand turning under hers in the grass. She thought of a warm kitchen years ago, and a different voice, and a promise she could not break.

She thought, They are not cruel. They have not been cruel to me once.

She nodded again.

”Yes,” she said. ”I’ll come.”

”Good.”

He rose from his crouch in a single smooth movement and offered her his hand. She took it. His palm was warm and calloused, and he drew her to her feet and held on a moment longer than necessary.

”Go back to your chambers,” he said. ”Rest. I’ll send Lysander to fetch you when it’s time.”

”Thank you.”

”Don’t thank me.”

She smiled, small and shaky, and slipped her hand free. She turned. She walked across the study with the three of them watching her and reached the door, and paused with her fingers on the iron.

She did not look back.

The door closed behind her.

***

For a moment no one spoke.

Kaelen stood where she had left him, staring at the shut door. His hands hung loose at his sides. Then he turned slowly and walked back to his chair and dropped into it, heavily, like a man set down after a long march.

”Well,” he said.

Thorne spoke first.

”She was afraid.”

”Yes.”

”Not of us.” Thorne’s voice was thoughtful. His eyes were on the fire. ”I do not think she was afraid of us. She looked at Kaelen’s question as though he’d struck her.”