Page 116 of The Moorwitch

Bring me what I desire, dear Rose, or I’ll have no more use for you at all.At midnight, my time will be up, and he’ll consider me to have reneged on our second deal as I had on the first. He’ll wring the last miserable drop of life from my heart, and I will drop dead, right here on this floor.

At least my failure will not put Conrad or Sylvie at further risk. He will be more vigilant now and ensure his sister does not return to the border where Lachlan can touch her. They will remain in Morgaine’s service, though, bound to her will as I have been to Lachlan’s. How arrogant I was to have imagined I could set them free.

Well. At least I will finally be free of Lachlan.

The thought is bitter and no comfort at all.

I want tolive, Fates damn me! I don’t want to waste away in this room, not even in my own world, alone and miserable and racked with pain! I want to live. I want to unravel the minutes back to my bedroom, and again feel Conrad’s hands on me, his breath warm on my neck, his hair twisted around my fingers. I want the future we would never have.

They took my threadkit from me when they locked me in here. So I yank out a strand of my hair and attempt to Weave it into a fire knot. If I set something ablaze, maybe they’ll let me out. Maybe I can still find a branch—

The hair snaps.

So does the next, and the next, and the next.

The sea silk is still tied around my wrist; I cannot bring myself to use it. I pull a thread from the carpet and Weave that, but my heart is thrumming with so much pain I cannot begin to channel any energy into it. And when I manage to push through the wall of pain, I encounter an unfamiliar current of energy, the magic of Elfhame entirely foreign and unbending. It does not answer me the way the energy of my own world does. Instead, it seems to hiss and recoil, offended I should even try to touch it.

Suddenly a great shudder runs through the walls. I shout and scramble up, the floor rolling beneath me, the light of the fruit-lamps above flickering. Is this because I tried to channel?

The tremor ends as soon as it began, but the guards outside yell to one another. The lights are dimmer but burn steadily again.

With a shiver, I slump over onto my side. I cannot seem to stop shaking, and soon my thoughts become consumed with horrible speculation of what will happen to me in the end. Will I know when I draw my last breath? Will I feel my soul leave my body? Will I see the Fates bending over me, Atropos’s shears gleaming as she snips my life thread? Or will there only be darkness and nothing, not memory, not consciousness? Will I simply end and know nothing more at all?

These thoughts send chills racing down my body, and another clench of pain causes me to curl up tighter. My teeth begin to chatter. All my wanting turns to ash, and the fury and fight melts from my bones. Despair howls in like a frigid wind to fill the cavern of my body.

I find myself wishing the end would just come. That it would all be over, because waiting for it now seems to me to be ever so much worse.

Then I hear a knock on the door.

My head lifts, and I unfold shakily, keeping a hand on my heart as the door opens and Conrad slips into my little birdcage of a cell. His face is pale and drawn tight, with shadows pooling beneath his eyes. His hair is a dark tangle dusted with cobwebs, and the crystal-embroidered faerie suit is ragged at the hems, with a froth of white lace at his throat. He’s wearing his own boots, but they’re splattered with mud. He looks terrible.

“Rose,” he says.

I shrink away, curling against the far wall in a miserable knot of despair and shame. Whatever condemnation he is here to deal out, I deserve.

He approaches slowly, his hand raised, and I cower deeper into myself.

“I did not come to hurt you,” he says, sounding pained. “Rose ...”

“I have ruined everything,” I whisper. “Conrad, I am so sorry.”

I bury my face in my hands, my tears pouring out into my palms.

He kneels and without a word gathers me into his arms.

I let out a sob and grip him tightly, as if merely holding on to him by strength of will could tether me to life. Relief and confusion burn behind my eyes, spilling out in tears that Conrad wipes away with his thumb.

“I did not know,” he murmurs into my hair. “Forgive me for not understanding you earlier. For not hearing you out. I should have listened, instead of running off to Elfhame like the dog that I am.”

“I should have told you the truth sooner.”

“Why did you do it? Why did you give him control of your heart?”

“I thought I could save us both, and Sylvie too,” I whisper. “I deceived you, and I deceived myself most of all.” I brush my fingers over the cut on his cheek. “Oh, why did you not tell her it was me? That none of this was your fault? How you must despise me.”

He pulls back, holding my face between his hands and gazing at me as if I were the most precious and yet perplexing thing in the world. “Despise you? Fates, Rose Pryor. I could as easily despise the sun for rising or the stars for gleaming.”

“You don’t hate me?”