The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(97)

And who.

“Blackwell,” I blurt. “What happened to him? Is he alive?” I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start. “He had a lodestone; he used it to escape. But where did he go? What about the king? And Caleb—” I stop. It hits me in the chest, knocks the air out of me all over again. The last time I saw Caleb, he was dying.

Caleb is dead.

I press my hands to my face, against the tears that spring to my eyes. Nicholas falls silent, allowing me to grieve again for my friend who became my enemy, who I still love despite all of it.

“Blackwell escaped,” Nicholas says, finally, his voice gentle. “But he didn’t go far. He made it back to Greenwich Tower, injured but alive. From what we’ve been told, he reappeared at the masque shortly thereafter.”

“How?” I pull my hands from my face, look at Nicholas in disbelief. “I cut him in the face. With the Azoth. It was a terrible injury. I saw it. How could he just walk away from that?”

Nicholas shakes his head, the answer as obvious as it is obscure: There’s no telling what magic Blackwell used, what magic he is capable of.

“At midnight, Blackwell unmasked. Revealed himself, just as he told you he would. Said he was a wizard. Said he was a victim of Malcolm’s rules, that he was commanded to carry out laws he never believed in. That now he only wants what’s best for Anglia, and he’s the one to bring them the peace they desire.”

“Where was Malcolm—the king—during all this? Where was the queen?”

“Just before the unmasking, they were taken away. Blackwell had them sent to Fleet.”

“Is he going to kill them?” I don’t like Malcolm; he took a part of me I can never get back. But he was a victim of Blackwell as much as I was; so was the queen. I don’t want to see them die. Then it occurs to me. “Or has he already killed them?”

Nicholas shakes his head. “No. And he won’t, at least not while there’s no advantage in it. Because if he kills them now, it might make martyrs of them. It might create sides when right now, there are none. It might even incite an uprising. And Blackwell, of all people, knows what a disadvantage an uprising can be.”

“But—Blackwell is a wizard,” I say. “He lied to everyone. People can’t believe what he says now. They can’t be happy he’s king, can they? Surely someone is questioning him? Or protesting?”

Nicholas smiles then, that hard, bitter smile I’ve seen before.

“Blackwell dispatched the king and queen with ease, in front of the most influential people in Anglia. Not a single person made a move to help them, not a single person uttered a word of protest. Perhaps people believed him; perhaps they were too frightened to pretend otherwise. But for now, he’s made good on his word. He’s repealed the laws against witchcraft. The burnings have stopped; the tablets are gone—all of them. He’s going to mold Anglia into a country of his making. It’s no longer a matter of Persecutors against Reformists. It’s those who want peace against those who do not.”

“Peace?” I say. “Blackwell doesn’t want peace. Not unless it’s on his terms.”

Nicholas nods. “And we don’t know what those terms are yet. He’s approached us, of course. Sent word through channels that he’s open to discussion. He claims he doesn’t wish to cause us harm. He just wants to discuss a truce.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“None of us do. We know too much about him now, what he’s capable of. As long as we’re around, we are a danger to him and his rule. He knows we will try to stop him, and he will come for us. Maybe not today, not tomorrow. Maybe he’ll give us enough time to contact allies, to build an army of our own. But chances are he won’t. And we need to be ready.”

There are those words again. We. Them. They. Us.

I don’t belong to any of them.

I look up to find Nicholas watching me carefully.

“We received your note within hours of your leaving Humbert’s. In it you said, ‘make sure nothing happens to them.’ Not a word about yourself, except your confession to Peter and your apology to all of us.”

I flush a little, thinking about the note. I didn’t think I’d be alive for anyone to cite it back to me.

“I want to thank you, Elizabeth. What you did for me, and for John. For all of us. It took a tremendous deal of bravery.”

I shake my head. I don’t know if it was bravery as much as it was fear. I wish I knew the difference. If I did, I could be brave despite my fear, not because of it. If I’d been brave instead of afraid, things would have turned out very differently.

Nicholas nods, as though he can read my mind.

“You can’t undo your past. You know that as well as I. But you also can’t foresee the future. Not even Veda’s prophecy can do that. What you want to do next, who you want to be, where you want to belong, that’s entirely up to you. As I always say, nothing is written in stone.”

I look up then and see John standing in the doorway. He looks at me and smiles.



He walks with me through the physic gardens behind his home, a beautiful rambling stone cottage at the edge of a river. The grounds burst with life, green and purple, orange and red, a riot of color against the oppressive gray skies. I can’t go far, not at first. But days turn into weeks and slowly, I get stronger. John is patient: holding my hand when I am weak, letting me go when I am strong. I stay in his house, with him and his father. He takes care of me, and he loves me. And never once does he blame me. His father says I saved John’s life. He says I saved his.