She purses her lips, her mind clearly churning over the revelations. Had Thorne not already told her everything?
“Go on, little ruby. What else does thiscurseentail?” she snaps, this time directing her words to me.
I swallow, uncomfortable, and move closer to Vann without thinking.
“It was after a night when I’d gotten drunk. At first, there were stretches I could not recall. But then, during one of the nights when the curse stirred, I killed a man.”
She grins. “I was older than you the first time I’d killed someone. Did the man hurt you?”
My heart races. How could she be so… cavalier about death? The memory tears me apart every time I touch it.
I clear my throat.
“No. He was a friend.”
She looks disappointed. “Ah, well. Pity. Anything else?”
I take a deep breath, not wanting to talk to this woman anymore.
“A few memories remain—a hunger, a desire to kill—and a voice.”
Mrath raises one perfectly pale eyebrow.
“A voice?” she asks.
In the corner of my eye, Vann looks down at me, confusion etched on his face. I shift my gaze from him to Mrath and nod. “Yes.”
“What did the voice say?”
I furrow my brow, glancing at Vann again. Should I tell her everything? I doubt he hears my thoughts, but he offers a reassuring nod.
My gaze returns to the leader. “It told me to return.”
“And you have no idea where you are to return to?” she asks.
I shake my head as distant voices filter around me and the light overhead grows uncomfortably bright.
“It told you no name, no location, no direction?” she presses.
I reach into my mind. The memories are slick and hard to grasp. But the thing inside me was pleased with our direction. It wanted to go faster.
Mrath clears her throat, impatiently demanding a response.
“Maybe?” I start, “It seemed to like where we were. It just wanted me to go faster.”
A dryad, with skin like polished bark and hair woven of shimmering leaves, glides forward gracefully bearing a crystal goblet filled with ruby wine. Mrath leans over, gesturing to a few women at a nearby table.
The leader begins a long stream of elvish. I catch a few words—fragileandcock. She grabs the goblet, then drinks deeply.
Finally, she looks back at us, and point a finger at me. Her toneturns brisk.
“Emissary Thorne has also told me that King Arion has declared he will hold off on a siege if you,specifically you, would be his bride.”
My skin goes cold. I didn’t want to talk about this.
“We considered Arion, but we have reason to believe he would not work with the witches. We are seeking other options,” Vann says.
Mrath huffs.