Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(108)

The blood drained from my face. “Don’t touch him.”

She arched a white brow. “You have forgotten he is your enemy, Louise. But fret not . . . all will be forgiven at Modraniht. We’ll arrange your husband’s burning before our little celebration.” She paused, giving me the chance to bite and snap at the mention of Reid. I refused. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“You remember the holiday, don’t you? I thought we would make it special this year.”

A tendril of fear crept through me. Yes, I remembered Modraniht.

Mothers’ Night. Dames Blanches from all over Belterra would gather at the Chateau to feast and honor their female ancestors with sacrifices. I had little doubt what my role would be this year.

As if reading my thoughts, she touched my throat affectionately. I gasped, remembering the burst of pain in my scar before I’d collapsed. She chuckled. “Do not worry yourself. I’ve healed your wound. I couldn’t waste any of that precious blood before we reached the Chateau.” Her hair tickled my face as she leaned closer, right next to my ear. “It was a clever bit of magic, and difficult to deconstruct, but even it won’t save you this time. We’re almost home.”

“That place is not my home.”

“You’ve always been so dramatic.” Still chuckling, she reached forward to flick my nose, and my heart stopped at the sight of the golden ring on her finger. She followed my gaze with a knowing smile. “Ah, yes. And naughty, too.”

“How did you—” Choking on the words, I struggled against the injection binding me, but my limbs remained cruelly unresponsive.

Morgane couldn’t have Angelica’s Ring. She couldn’t. I needed it to dispel her enchantment. If I wore it when she drained my blood, the blood would be useless. The magic would be broken. I would die, yes, but the Lyons would live. Those innocent children would live.

I struggled harder, the veins in my throat nearly bursting from the strain. But the more I fought, the more difficult it became to speak—to breathe—around the heaviness of my body. My limbs felt as if they would soon fall through the wagon floor. Panicked, I focused on bringing a pattern forth—any pattern—but the gold winked in and out of focus, blurred and disjointed from the drug.

I cursed bitterly, my resolve quickly crumbling into hopelessness.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize my own ring?” Morgane smiled tenderly and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “You must tell me, though, however did you find it? Or was it you who stole it in the first place?” When I didn’t answer, she sighed heavily. “How you disappoint me, darling. The running, the hiding, the ring—surely you realize it’s all folly.”

Her smile vanished as she lifted my chin, and her eyes burned into mine with sudden, predatory focus. “For every seed you’ve scattered, Louise, I’ve scattered a thousand more. You are my daughter. I know you better than you know yourself. You cannot outsmart me, you cannot escape me, and you cannot hope to triumph against me.”

She paused as if waiting for a reply, but I didn’t indulge her. With every ounce of my concentration, I focused on moving my hand, on shifting my wrist, on lifting even a finger. Darkness swam in my vision from the effort. She watched me struggle for several minutes—the intensity in her eyes dulling to a strange sort of wistfulness—before she resumed stroking my hair. “We must all die eventually, Louise. I urge you to make peace with it. On Modraniht, your life will fulfill its purpose at last, and your death will liberate our people. You should be proud. Not many receive such a glorious fate.”

With one last, desperate heave, I attempted to lash out at her—to strike her, to hurt her, to tear the ring from her finger somehow—but my body remained cold and lifeless.

Already dead.

My days passed in torment. Though the drug paralyzed my body, it did nothing to dull the ache in my bones. My face and wrist continued to throb from the witch’s attack, and a hard knot had formed at my throat from being stabbed by so many quills.

To think, Andre and Grue had once been the worst of my problems.

Morgane’s pale fingers traced the knot, circling to the finger-shaped bruises beneath my ear. “Friends of yours, darling?”

I scowled and focused on the burning sensation in my hands and feet—the first indicator of the drug waning. If I were quick, I could snatch Angelica’s Ring and roll from the wagon, disappearing before Morgane reacted. “Once.”

“And now?”

I tried to wiggle my fingers. They remained limp. “Dead.”

As if sensing my thoughts, Morgane withdrew the familiar steel syringe from her bag. I closed my eyes, trying and failing to prevent my chin from quivering. “Your sisters will heal your body when we reach the Chateau. These ghastly bruises must be gone before Modraniht. You will be wholesome and pure again.” She massaged the knot on my throat, preparing it for the quill. “Fair as the Maiden.”

My eyes snapped open. “I’m hardly a maiden.”

Her saccharine smile faltered. “You didn’t actually lie with that filthy huntsman?” Sniffing delicately, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Oh, Louise. How disappointing. I can smell him all over you.” Her eyes flicked to my abdomen, and she cocked her head, inhaling deeper. “I do hope you took precautions, darling. The Mother is alluring, but her path is not yours.”