The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(71)

George starts after him, but Fifer grabs his sleeve.

“Let it go,” she says. “Just—let him be.”

Fifer and George turn to me, and Humbert steps up beside them. They stand over me, watching me, silent. I feel vulnerable, lying here like this. My dress in tatters, my stomach exposed, my secret exposed. I’m trembling from cold and fear and loss of blood and a hundred other things I’m too weary to contemplate. But I need to tell them about the tablet. I need to tell them I have no idea how I’m going to destroy it. And I need to tell them about Blackwell.

“The tablet,” I start.

“Is it really at Blackwell’s?” George says.

I nod.

“That’s a very serious accusation.” Humbert frowns. “I’ve known Blackwell a long time. He’s capable of some unpleasant things, certainly. And he certainly has reason to get rid of Nicholas. But breaking his nephew’s rules to do it, the rules he himself created… are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath—hard to do without making my stitches hurt—and look at them each in turn. “There’s something else you should know about him, too.”

“What?” It’s Fifer who speaks. “What is it?”

“Blackwell is a wizard.”

The words seem to change as they leave my mouth. They shift and grow into monsters of their own, a hybrid of fear and truth and horror and lies: reaching, grabbing, shaking, shrieking. The others, they don’t speak. They don’t move. They just stand there, allowing themselves to be devoured.

“Nicholas… I think he suspected it for a while,” I continue. “And after what happened at Veda’s, after she told him what I was, after I told him all the things I’d done, the things I did…” I pause, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “He knew.”

Then I tell them everything.

I tell them about Caleb. About my training, about my final test at Blackwell’s. How they took us one by one into the darkness, maybe to live, maybe to die. How Guildford marched me into the woods and into the tomb, where Blackwell tried to bury me alive with my own fear.

“After it was over, after the dirt receded and the tomb righted itself, it was already morning. I saw the light coming in through the edges of that door, and I remember thinking it looked different. That it didn’t look like the same door as before. It wasn’t wooden at all, but stone. But I didn’t think it mattered. All that mattered was getting out.” I take another breath. “Finally, Guildford came and got me. My eyes were shut. I was still singing. Still curled up in a ball. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Just like at Veda’s,” George whispers at last. His eyes are as round as trenchers. Fifer’s face is vellum pale, and she goes a long time without blinking.

I nod. “As we left, I opened my eyes to take one last look. I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted to see where I almost died, maybe I wanted proof I was still alive. But when I opened my eyes, I saw it. It was the Thirteenth Tablet.”

Fifer sucks in a breath.

“Of course, I didn’t realize it was the Thirteenth Tablet until we had the sword and I saw the Green Knight’s tomb. I didn’t know you could dispose of curse tablets in tombs, not until Fifer told me.…” I shiver. “But now I know. And if I’m going to destroy it, I have to go back into the tomb at Blackwell’s to get it.”

“How are you going to do that?” George says. “Blackwell has more protection on his house than is on the king’s. Guards, gates, a moat, and that’s just to get to the main entrance. Inside, he’s got archers stationed in towers around the clock. They don’t fire warning shots.”

Humbert sinks into a chair. He seems to deflate before my eyes: his face sagging, his posture sagging, the shock setting in.

“I thought you were a witch,” he whispers. It’s a surprise to hear him speak in anything less than a shout. “Nicholas said you had herbs, and I just assumed…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “No one was supposed to know. Nicholas thought it was better that way.”

Humbert considers it, then nods. “I understand the need for deception. I should; I live a life of it. Distasteful, perhaps. But necessary.”

He motions to Bridget. She’s hovering in the doorway, watching us, eyes wide.

“Please prepare a bath for Elizabeth, some food and clean clothing.” He turns back to me. “We need to get you on the mend. Then we can figure out how to get you inside Blackwell’s.”

George helps me to sit, and Fifer wraps a blanket around my shoulders. We make our way down the hall, up the stairs, into my room. John is gone, nowhere to be seen. I saw the look on his face, when he realized what I am. He probably never wants to set eyes on me again.

After Bridget finishes the bath, she and George excuse themselves. Fifer helps me undress and I slip into the hot, fragrant water. And immediately, embarrassingly, I start to cry.

I’m weak. I’m tired. I’m injured. I’m confused. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, afraid of what I’ve got to do. I am what I always feared I’d be: alone. I’m going into that tomb alone; I’m going to die alone. This is what Nicholas knew, what he didn’t want to tell me. He didn’t have to. Because deep down, I knew it, too.