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Thirty-Three

Lydia walked through the labyrinth of corridors, with Sybil just ahead of her, leading the way.

Their footsteps echoed through the halls of the magnificent castle, and many sets of eyes seemed to watch, peering down from paintings and tapestries.

Sybil stopped before a door, ornately carved from amber-gold wood, much like the door to Lydia’s own room, and Lydia felt her heart quicken.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” Sybil asked. “If you upset yourself before the ceremony—”

“I’ll be fine.” Lydia looked into her eyes. “She’s my mother. I need to at least try to make her understand.”

Sybil squeezed her arm. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”

She pressed her hand against the door, and as she did, a flicker of light ran through her moonstone ring. Lydia had seen the other girls wearing a similar piece of jewelry, and hadn’t thought anything of it. Now she understood. It wasn’t just a ring.

It was a key .

The door opened, and they stepped inside.

Evelyn was there, looking small and disheveled, standing in the center of the room.

The walls bore the same binding sigil Lydia recognized from her own chamber, and although this room was smaller than her own, it was no less opulent.

Tall windows allowed in the afternoon light, and the bed was piled high with blankets embroidered in creams and peaches.

Evelyn looked furious, but her face softened when she laid eyes on Lydia.

“Oh, Lydia!” She threw herself at her daughter, holding her tightly. Lydia wanted to embrace her, to weep on her shoulder, but she forced herself to remain stoic.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Have they hurt you? Are you all right?” Evelyn pawed at her, examining her for signs of rough handling.

“I’m fine, really.” Lydia glanced at Sybil, who gave her a supportive nod. “Mother, please sit.”

Evelyn looked confused, but did as she was asked, never letting go of Lydia’s hands. They sat across from one another at a small table, with an overstuffed chair on each side.

“Fiona?” Lydia spoke softly, although she knew Sybil could hear every word.

Evelyn clucked. “Touch and go. She was a bloody mess when she came back. I did what I could, but then this lot showed up, and—” She tossed a sour look at Sybil. “She wasn’t strong enough to travel with both of us, you understand. I told her to leave me behind.”

Oh, Evelyn. Lydia couldn’t imagine how she had never seen her clearly before now. How selfless she was. How brave.

“Mother, I…” She remembered herself then and let go of Evelyn’s hands. “I need to tell you something important. Something I hope you’ll understand, someday.”

Evelyn glanced at Sybil, then back at Lydia.

“I’m going to help Sybil. I’m going to help her end the war.”

Evelyn blinked at her. Her mouth fell open. “ Win the war, you mean. For Germany.” Her spine straightened. “My love, you cannot be serious.”

Lydia sighed. “Just once, I wish you would listen before—”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Evelyn’s voice rose. “Win the war for the bloody Nazis—”

“People are dying ,” Lydia said. “Good people. People like Kitty, and Isadora. We can put an end to it—”

“I can’t believe you,” Evelyn hissed. “Kitty and Isadora died fighting people like her —” Evelyn’s finger sliced through the air, pointing at Sybil. She stood, and Sybil flinched. “Traitorous bitch . When I get out of this room, I’m going to make you stick your head right up your own—”

“Mother, enough.” Lydia stood, placing herself between Evelyn and Sybil. “Sit down,” she said quietly. Evelyn looked horribly wounded, and Lydia hated herself for that, but she forced herself to remain cool and remote. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t. I never will.” Evelyn’s voice shook. “Isadora would die of shame.”

“You don’t know the first thing about Isadora!

” Lydia snapped. She felt Sybil’s attention sharpen, but dared not look at her.

“Isadora was the most powerful witch in all of Britain. And what did she do with that power? Did she use it to bring us out of the shadows, to make the world a safer place for witches? No . Isadora offered us up like cannon fodder to fight a war on behalf of Britain, a country that for centuries has despised us, murdered us, and driven us into hiding. Throwing witches into harm’s way with no promise of safety or recognition after the war was over.

And for what? For her own stubborn pride. ”

“You don’t mean that.” Evelyn’s mouth hung open, aghast.

“I do, actually.” Shame twisted in Lydia’s stomach, but she would not show it.

“So now you’ve aligned yourself with her ?” Evelyn’s chin jutted toward Sybil. “This evil, conniving—”

“Sybil is my grand mistress.” Lydia’s voice was a warning.

“She murdered your grand mistress,” Evelyn spat.

“And if you go through with this, she’ll make a murderer of you too.

” She looked unbearably sad. Broken. “If you do this…” A tear fell onto Evelyn’s cheek, but she wiped it away.

Lydia watched her face go hard. “Lydia Polk, you’ll be no daughter of mine. ”

Does she know? Lydia wondered. They hadn’t planned this. It had been a last-minute improvisation, a necessary evil in order for Lydia to learn Evelyn’s location. She watched the naked anguish on her mother’s face, hoping and praying that she knew the truth. Hoping that she understood.

“I haven’t been your daughter for a very long time,” Lydia said quietly.

She watched the pain ripple across Evelyn’s face as she spoke the words.

“How could I be? I’m nothing like you. I am a graduate of the Royal Academy of Witches.

I am a Projectionist and a soldier, trained by the greatest witches in all of Britain.

I have been the right hand to two grand mistresses, and someday, very soon, I will be selected to reign as grand mistress myself.

And you will never be anything more than what you are right now—a dirty old hedge witch . ”

The silence was excruciating. Lydia watched Evelyn’s face, waiting for some glimmer of understanding. She saw something harden behind Evelyn’s eyes, but whether it was hurt or comprehension, Lydia did not know.

“I believe someday you will look back on this moment, and see that I had my reasons,” she said softly.

She turned her back and walked away, following Sybil into the hallway. She waited until they were outside, then fell, sobbing, into Sybil’s arms. Sybil shushed her gently and stroked her hair.

“Oh, my darling,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”