Page 42 of Stolen Magic (All That Glitters #2)

A soft hum suddenly pulsed at the edge of my awareness, the low thrum of dormant magic, subtle but unmistakable.

I paused in the corridor, my hand on the stair rail, listening.

The stone hallway was nearly silent this late in the evening, save for the hush of wind curling through the window arches.

The farther I followed the power tugging on my senses, the stronger the pull grew, until I rounded a sharp corner.

Lord Velgrin, the court’s magical advisor, suddenly emerged from the shadows near the conservatory doors, as if he’d been waiting for me. I stopped short.

Silver-threaded robes draped his willowy frame, the formal folds gleaming faintly in the low candlelight.

I had only ever seen him at a distance since the night Callan had introduced him at dinner the night I arrived.

Now, up close, his pale eyes glinted like frost beneath heavy brows, sharp and assessing.

He offered no bow or formal greeting, only silence as taut as a snare.

“What an unexpected delight,” he said at last, his voice hushed and cold. “The little handmaiden from the forest who knows her way around sigils and memory veils. And here I thought our prince merely had poor taste rather than a death wish by fraternizing with someone as dangerous as a witch.”

Horror seized my breath. Handmaiden , not princess . Somehow, he knew who I was, as if those glacial eyes had peeled back every layer of disguise and seen straight through to the truth I had desperately kept buried.

My body went rigid. I curled my fingers into the fabric of my skirt to still their trembling. “You’re mistaken.”

A slow smile toyed with the corners of his mouth. “Am I? I saw the spell you used to bewitch the prince and the rest of the court the afternoon of your arrival. A clever trick, if a bit rushed.

As a keeper of magic, you know as well as I do that those who possess this rare power can sense the residue such spells leave behind.

Your spellwork was imprecise, but charming in its own way.

Does His Highness know what you did, or are you planning to erase this conversation too before I can tell? ”

I said nothing, my heart pounding too loudly to form words.

He chuckled. “No protest? Pity. I was almost looking forward to your pathetic defense.” He took a step forward and the shadows seemed to follow, dragging like chains from the folds of his robe.

“I’ve seen your kind before: peasant mages drunk on vengeance.

You’re not the first to sneak past our gates wearing a borrowed face.

” He leaned in, his leer sinister. “I remember another, a healer with beautiful raven hair and violet eyes, just like yours. A talented witch who thought her knowledge made her invincible…and when she refused to serve the crown, she died screaming.”

Everything inside me stilled. No , he couldn’t mean?—

A flicker of cruel satisfaction curled at the corners of his mouth at my shock. “Ah, you do know who I mean.”

My mother .

My mind whirled in an effort to process this horrific revelation.

I hadn’t known her killer’s name, hadn’t seen his face from my hiding place beneath the floorboards.

But the arrogance in his tone, the callousness with which he recounted her final moments left me without a doubt: he was the one who had carried out the king’s orders and taken my mother from me. Ice flooded my veins.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, sounding amused.

“Don’t worry, I won’t expose you…yet. If you possess even a sliver of her talent, you would be too useful to discard.

No, I’d rather use you instead, watch how far you fall in your futile quest.” His eyes narrowed.

“But step out of line again…and I’ll be waiting. ”

Then, like a shadow folding into itself, he vanished, leaving the corridor colder than before and me suspended in the sinister silence, shaken to the core.

I eventually regained enough sense to stumble blindly through the corridors, barely hearing the sound of my own hurried footsteps over the wild pounding of my heart.

Once inside my chambers, I dropped to my knees before the trunk at the foot of my bed and yanked it open.

My fingers fumbled through wrapped bundles and glass vials inside the satchel I never traveled without until they closed around a paper packet—dried crimsonleaf , prepared long ago as a last resort for escape or defense should the desperate need arise.

I made my way to the kitchens, where the warmth of the hearth did nothing to thaw the coldness searing my limbs. My hands moved on instinct, gathering the herbs needed.

I could barely breathe past the fury burning beneath my ribs.

I had found him, the man who killed my mother.

My vision blurred as I ground willow bark into powder, the rhythm harsh and uneven.

It would be far too easy—just one altered measurement, one steeped extract added beneath the veil of valerian… and he would never wake again.

The monster raging within me purred at the thought of replacing that glint of malice as he toyed with me for his own sinister amusement with a blank, lifeless stare.

The castle would assume it was illness or an accident, and he would vanish quietly, just like he had done with her.

He had so much blood on his hands. What was one more drop?

No one would ever know .

A soft rustle broke my spiraling thoughts. As if to play the role of my absent conscience, Myst had appeared, her gaze fixed on the poison lying in wait next to the other ingredients. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

I didn’t look up, not wanting to see the warning undoubtedly filling her eyes. “Of course I am,” I hissed. “No one will mourn the loss of a man who boasted about a committed murder.”

“It’s too soon,” she said with uncanny calmness. “Should anyone discover you’re responsible, you will lose your only chance for the magic you came here to claim. You’ve been patient all these years. Wait a little longer.”

The thought of waiting felt impossible, every moment torturous with time so pressing, the amount remaining until my inevitable exposure immeasurable…especially with the true princess just outside the palace walls.

My heart pounded furiously, fueling my rage as I stared at the poison in my shaky hold. He had taken everything—my mother, my home, my birthright. For all these years he had walked free, while I scavenged pieces of the life he’d burned to ash.

One pinch was all it would take, and he would never hurt anyone again. My hand hovered over the crimsonleaf pouch, trembling in both fear and longing. No one will ever know …but I would.

Spelling Princess Gwendolyn and manipulating Callan already weighed my conscience, but that was nothing to murder…

the very crime I had spent my entire life loathing Eldoria for.

To do this would make me no different from that horrible man who made my skin crawl…

but if I didn’t, he could expose my secret to the one man whose good opinion I was beginning to cherish above all others.

My breath came shallow and ragged as I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined my mother’s face—not as she lay dying, but as she once smiled while her gentle instruction taught me how to heal, not harm.

And then I remembered Callan, his quiet admiration when he called me strong, his unfailing belief goodness resided in me.

I didn’t deserve his faith…but I wanted to.

With a muffled curse I pulled my hand away from the sinister herb before vengeance could seduce my resolve, reaching instead for willowshade —a milder leaf, one that would sap strength and cloud the senses.

Crushed properly, it would mimic a sudden illness, just enough to render him unconscious and send him to the infirmary for a few days…

time enough to keep him out of my way and warn him that I wasn’t as helpless as he thought.

Myst said nothing, but her disapproval burned in the narrowing of her luminous eyes. Still, she didn’t stop me; even she couldn’t argue that illness was much preferable to poison.

I worked quickly, hands steadier now as I crushed the brittle leaves into powder. When the draft was finished, I carried the vial upstairs, my breath coming quickly.

Thanks to Callan finally giving me the promised tour of the castle, I knew where the mage’s private study was…

as well as his habit of taking his meals alone while reviewing royal documents.

It was nearly lunchtime; if I could time it right, I could arrive after the maid left his tray on the table by the door, but before he came to collect it.

My heart surged as I rounded the corner and saw the freshly delivered tray already waiting. A few quick steps and I was beside it.

“Courtesy from the witch you underestimated.” With one last glance to ensure his door remained closed, I slipped open the teapot’s lid and poured in the vial’s contents. Three quick stirs and the lid was sealed again.

I hesitated a moment before walking away.

There was a risk he might detect the potion.

I debated casting a concealing charm, but any trace of magic would be more detectable than the brew itself.

If I wanted to outwit him, I had to rely on something more unpredictable than power: instinct.

He had made his move by confronting me, now it was my turn to respond to his challenge.

After all, what was revenge without a little risk? All I had left to do was wait.

I sent Myst to follow the royal mage’s movements; she slipped through the court’s shadows, silent and unseen.

I passed the long hours seated by the open window; the fresh breeze stirred loose strands of my hair but did nothing to dispel the scent of herbs still clinging to my skin.

Faint smudges of powdered willowshade stained my fingertips like guilt that wouldn’t wash away.