Queen Rising (3 page)

Just then, the Witch of the Woods appeared in the doorway.

“It is time for a lesson,” she said. Her voice was sometimes barely audible. Now it was a scratchy whisper, like branches clawing through the wind.

And then the witch cut off one of her branches and burned it down to ash. She took the ashes and put them in a little glass vial. She spoke into the vial and the contents liquefied. And then she handed Ora the vial and ordered her to swallow the contents.

Ora did so obediently.

“Speak,” said the Witch of the Woods.

“What's happened to me?” Ora boomed in a mellifluous tone.

“I gave you the gift of song. It will only last a few minutes.”

Margot looked at the vial and said, “Teach me . . .”

8

The years passed, a blur between palace visits and witchy magic. Margot never stopped seeing Go. And she never stopped attempting to get that spark back. But the power that ignited that very first flame in her palm never came again. Instead, she found another kind of magic—one fueled by potions and silvery tongue and trickery—and took to it like a moth to a flame.

But there was a cost. Every visit with Go showed a change in him, not just his height but his manners. He became more and more of a gentleman and she became more and more of a witch. Margot noticed the distance between who they were becoming, but she still believed in their happily ever after.

There were other girls—witch apprentices—before her and there would be others after her. But Margot was the only one who had shown a real talent. There had been other glimpses of magic. A girl who made plants grow. A girl who sensed death. But none of those girls stayed as long as Margot. And almost none of them wanted to be a witch as much as she did. And Margot never bothered to make friends with them. She already had Ora. And the witches. And her brother. The other girls were temporary.

One morning Margot was fencing with Cassia, the Witch of the Woods, who wielded one of her branches while Margot defended with a real sword.

She pushed Cassia back, finally knocking her off her roots and onto the ground outside the Hollow.

“Better,” the Witch of the Woods said getting back on her roots. “Next time we try it again without the vials.”

“I can't, Cassia,” Margot protested. She had swallowed a potion that had given her the strength to rival Cassia. Without it, Margot wouldn't stand a chance.

“Perhaps I introduced the secrets of vial magic too soon,” the Witch of the Woods said. “You need to call on your inner strength. The Fire Witch was right.”

“I can do this.” Margot raised her arms in victory.

The Witch of the Woods's twiggy brows knitted together. “Show me your arms, Margot,” she said pointedly.

Margot crossed her arms over her chest protectively.

Reaching out with one of her branches, the witch unfastened Margot's dress with one swift move. The garment fell to the floor, revealing tiny cuts Margot had made over almost every inch of her body.

“You are hurting yourself and using the pain and power of blood to amplify your magic,” the Witch of the Woods accused with a stern look.

Margot attempted to cover herself up. “Why does it matter how I get my magic, as long as I get it?”

“Oh my child, you will bleed yourself dry . . .”

The witch laid a branch on each of Margot's shoulders. Sap began to pour out of them, covering Margot's scars. The sap stung as it poured into every wound.

Margot's eyes burned, too. She let out a small moan and looked down, through the amber viscous liquid. She could see each tiny red slice on her body disappear. The witch was healing her.

When the sap fell away, Margot's skin was as smooth and unblemished as a newborn's. Margot reached to the ground to get her dress, but the witch stuck out a branch, stopping her with another quick move. She fished Margot's dagger out of the dress pocket.

Margot
felt her stomach drop. In all her years at the Hollow she had never been punished by the witches.

“No more sacrifices, Margot.”

“I am sorry, Witch of the Woods. It's just . . . I know I went too far . . . but I need this magic.”

The Witch of the Woods's lips were set in a firm line. “I can't get Ora to mar one inch of that alabaster skin of hers, but you? I think it is time for you to find another way. Another place. A home with less temptation . . .”

“No,” Margot pleaded.

She realized instantly that the Witch of the Woods was about to cast her out of the Hollow. Where would she go?

“There are better ways you can carve out a life for yourself—a good life,” the Witch of the Woods said.

“Like the girls reading palms in the square?” Margot bit back bitterly. “That's what you see for me?”

The Witch of the Woods reached out a branch and affectionately tried to put it around her, but Margot shrugged it off.

“There are other professions. Noble ones. There are healers . . .”

“I wish I'd never met you. I wish you'd never taken me in. It's like you took me up to the clouds and gave me a home and now you expect me to live on land. It's not fair.”

“Witches don't believe in fair. I told you from the beginning this was only temporary.”

“Well, I'm not a witch so I can believe whatever I want now. Can't I?“

“We will miss you . . . Remember this: a girl can start as one thing and become another. Magic helps. But you don't need magic for true change,” the Witch of the Woods said, her twiggy eyebrows knitting.

Margot didn't want her advice. She knew she couldn't stay, but she wanted to. There was nothing else to say. Already feeling lost and alone, Margot turned to put her hand on the staircase to the world above—just as someone new came rushing down to the Hollow.

9

Nepenthe was half mermaid and half human. She would become the new River Witch, like her mother had been, if she chose the River over land. Nepenthe was also an orphan. Her parents were dead and, like Margot, she had nowhere else to go. The Witch of the Woods had brought her to the Hollow right after the tragedy, but this was the first time Margot had ever laid eyes on her.

When Nepenthe arrived she immediately dove into the River and her body transformed. She became part girl, part water creature, complete with tentacles and gills that formed parentheses around her mouth.

Margot had been waiting for time and practice to catch up with her to turn her into the witch she was supposed to become. She was waiting for the magic to happen. But it never quite did. And seeing Nepenthe in all her glory made it clearer than ever who belonged in the Hollow and who did not. With Nepenthe's lineage, Margot should not have been surprised. Her mother had been part of the coven, after all. But in her years with the coven, Margot had never seen anyone her age with inherent magic except Ora. And while Ora was always holding her magic back, Nepenthe was not holding back at all.

Nepenthe was magic incarnate. She wasn't trying. The magic just happened around her. Effortless. Pouring out of her and out of the sky.

With everyone's attention on Nepenthe, it was time for Margot to go. Ora was the last person she saw on the way out of the Hollow. She pressed a beautiful spider silk shawl into Margot's hands.

“You're trying too hard,” Ora said.

Her sweet voice pulled Margot out of her reverie but not out of her despair.

“You don't want to be like Nepenthe,” Ora said quietly.

“Why not?” Margot bit back, not meaning to sound bitter. Ora did not deserve her anger.

“Because Nepenthe doesn't know what she wants. Her parents' deaths forced her choice. If they were still alive . . .”

Margot shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't feel bad for Nepenthe. But Nepenthe got to stay, and she was being cast out.

“But still she got to choose. The choice is being made for me now.”

Ora pressed the shawl into Margot's hands and kissed her on the cheek. “You would have been one hell of a witch,” she whispered.

“If you don't have magic, make your own,” Ora said when they broke apart.

Margot turned and walked out of the Hollow.

When Margot pulled the shawl close, she felt that the lining held a dagger and dozens of potion vials. Ora had given her a parting gift.

10

Margot made her way through the woods to the palace gates. But she stopped short when she saw her brother playing in the distance. His fencing sword was locked with another boy's. But not just any boy. The Prince.

In all the years, in all her visits she had never seen the Prince again. He was half-grown now, like her brother. And they each wore the same expression, semiserious at the sword play and partly content, like there was nowhere else they would rather be. Her brother had succeeded at making the Prince his friend just she had told him to all those years ago. She had been far less successful with the witches.

She didn't ask to see Go this time. She didn't want to disturb his happiness with her grief.

Margot turned away and headed toward town, not remembering her steps and losing her way more than once.

As she walked the black stone streets, a tiny voice called to her. Margot looked down and saw a boy younger than her brother. His large, sad eyes were as gray as the sky. And hungrier.

She didn't have anything in her pockets to give him. She wanted to turn away. But the boy's desperate stare kept her in their orbit. She felt herself drawn in and tethered to him somehow, even though he was a total stranger. It was a single look, but it felt like something more.

The boy spoke, his voice a raspy whisper. “Mother?” he said.

The spell was broken. The boy didn't want food alone. He wanted family. And Margot had nothing to give him.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, before racing away in the other direction.

Hours passed. Margot walked and wandered. She wasn't paying attention to where she was going when she suddenly realized that she wasn't alone. There were footsteps all around her. Too close. She counted six or seven boys about her age. And their expressions were not at all welcoming.

“Witch,” one of them said.

Margot felt herself tense.

She was not accustomed to being on her own. And among the witches, she had never felt fear. But she knew that there were some people in Algid who believed that witches should stay in the Hollow. And she knew that there were people who believed that witches did not belong
anywhere
.

Margot felt a rough hand wrap around her arm through her shawl. And she could smell the foul breath of the boy who had grabbed her.

With her free hand, she managed to retrieve one of the magic vials hidden in the shawl. Margot clutched the potion and whispered into it.

“What do you have there, witch? Are you going to put a spell on me?” The loudest boy, who was apparently in charge, laughed and tried to grab her other arm.

But Margot managed to splash the liquid into the air and the world lit up with a spray of fireworks as bright as the North Lights. The boys scattered in every direction.

Margot sank to the ground from the effort of the blast.

She laughed at the irony. She had almost gotten attacked for being something she could no longer be. She tried opening her eyes, but everything was light and shadows.

Just
then, someone crouched down beside her and pulled her to her feet. Her legs buckled beneath her, but she was lifted up. Margot opened her eyes to find herself in a boy's arms.

The boy wasn't handsome exactly, but his features were pleasant and gentle. His hair was dark and shiny with spikes of blue. His eyes were green and arresting.

“You're going to be okay,” the boy said as he carried her down the street and into an open doorway. “I've got you now.”

11

Margot clung to the stranger as they wove their way through a boarding house. It was filled with kids around their same age. Some sat alongside a countertop, drinking. Others were playing cards. Still others were dancing in the middle of the room.

What had she gotten herself into?
Margot wondered as the boy finally stopped inside a bedroom and lay her down on the bed. This felt safer than the square, but her instincts told her to be wary.

Margot sat up halfway and looked at him, forgetting the pain in her leg, to pepper him with questions.

“What is this place? Who are these kids?”

“Kids with no place to go.”

“And we're safe here?”

“We aren't safe anywhere. But we can sleep here.”

She wasn't sure if it was a joke or an invitation. Margot looked up at him, deciding whether or not to repay him for his kindness with a kick. She decided on not. She leaned back against the wall.

Margot didn't need rescuing. She just needed to rest. Her eyelids felt heavy. She began to drift off.

“Let me stitch you up,” the boy said, snapping her back to consciousness.

He placed a tumbler of whiskey at her bedside and ordered her to drink it for the pain. Margot took a sip, and the brown liquid burned as it went down. Usually, she would use magic for these sorts of things, but she didn't want to after what had happened with the boys in the square.

The boy grabbed a piece of gauze and a cloth and went to work on Margot's leg with a level of skill and dexterity that surprised her. Clearly this was not his first time stitching up a wound. It hurt, but she gritted her teeth and took a long swig of the drink. The room tilted, and she wasn't sure if it was from the pain of the needle or the contents of the glass or the dance between the two.

She heard a scratching sound.

“What is that?”

“Cat,” he said simply.

A striped tabby purred and rubbed against the boy's leg. Somehow the fact that he had a pet made him less intimidating. If something could love him—and more importantly, if he could take care of something other than himself—then there had to be some value to him. Margot felt her guard drop. Just a hair.