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Rumors abound that she intends to make poisons.

She has wild ways, though such is the manner of her matriarchal tribe. Hers is the most prominent, the Xaneth. If she is any measure of the women they produce, it is evident we must act, for her defiance is a threat to the crown.

I rolled up the parchment.

“Do either of you happen to know the history of Aroth?”

“It isn’t a good one,” said Zann. “Are you sure you wish to hear it?”

“Yes,” I said. I wasn’t sure if anything would surprise me now, especially where Dragos and his lords were concerned.

“They were a tribal nation ruled by women. Their men were warriors and protective but not protective as in possessive; these men saw their women as sacred. As time passed, they faced threats from all sides, Vlasca, Zenovia, Elin, and of course Revekka. The younger generations began to think that the only reason they were seen as a conquest was because of the women who ruled them. There was a mutiny, and the men took control. I read two accounts of that day. One claims the ruling matriarchs were exiled, and one suggests they were murdered.”

“When was the mutiny?” I asked.

“I believe it was about two years after the Burning.”

“So many of us…murdered.”

I was not even talking about witches anymore, but women. I lifted the rolled parchment to the flame. I did not wish for this information to exist about me any longer. “Strange that men claim we are weak when they are so afraid.”

We worked well into the night. Each time Lothian and Zann came across a summoning spell, they added it to a pile for my review. I was not exactly sure what I was looking for, but I felt that I would know when I found it. I needed something that would draw Ravena to any surface I chose, something that could compensate for the potential that her power had increased since she hadThe Book of Dis. As for binding, I hoped to trap her wherever I summoned her.

At some point, I dismissed Lothian and Zann. They both hesitated to leave me, but I assured them I would be fine, and I only wished to read through what they had already found before we began again tomorrow.

Once they were gone, though, I could not focus on what I was reading, certain that I could hear someone sobbing, but it was distant and muffled. For a moment, I thought it might have been Ravena, coming to taunt me, but there were no mirrors here, no reflections in windows, no water to speak of. I followed the sound around the room to where it was loudest, and in the shadows, I found a door.

I turned the knob and pushed. It took a few tries, but it finally gave, groaning as it opened, powdering the air with dust. I found myself in a stone corridor. It was cold and dark, only a few torches hanging in sconces on the wall. They did little to light the long hall stretching before me, but I continued anyway, passing cells barred with thick iron. The crying that had been loud at first was quieter now, as if the person responsible had tried to muffle the sound. Still, I was able to follow it and came to stand before a woman in one of the cells.

She was naked and lying on her side, shaking. Her back was to me, the bones of her spine sticking out as if her skin had shrunk around it.

“Safira?” I whispered.

She did not move or act as if she had heard me.

She had been down here for almost a month, though Adrian had only ordered her to remain in the dungeons for a few days. That was after she had falsely claimed to be sleeping with him. I had approved of that punishment—but seeing her like this now made me feel guilty that neither of us had ensured her quick release.

“Guards!” I called.

“Keep your mouth shut!” a voice echoed in the dungeon. Whoever had called did not attempt to investigate. I wondered if that meant he was used to Safira making demands. I would not be surprised, but seeing her like this made me wonder if we had broken her.

“I command you, come this instant!”

“You little bitch,” the guard growled, and suddenly, there was clamoring down the hall and heavy feet thudded against the stone floor. “You’ve a lot of nerve commanding me.” He rounded the corner and halted when he saw me, though I was veiled in shadow. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, squinting to see me better.

“I am your queen,” I snapped. “Open this fucking door.”

“My qu-queen!” he sputtered, kneeling.

“I said open this door. I will not give the command again.”

He scurried forward and fumbled with a set of keys.

As soon as the door opened, I swept inside.

Safira lay in the middle of the uneven stone floor. She was filthy, her hair matted, and her skin so raw in places, she had developed sores.

She also smelled like piss, and it burned my nose.