Fione’s shakes have only gotten worse, her rosebud lips paling. “Varia—how could you—?”

“Hush,” Varia chides her. “This is for your peace of mind as much as mine. I won’t let her, or anyone else, hurt you. Go on. Try it out. Touch her.”

I stand stock-still, petrified. Fione looks nervously between Varia and my shoes, then back to Varia again, her cheeks whiter than bone and her small frame quaking uncontrollably. She’s nervous but not surprised, which means Varia’s already told her about being a witch.

her fear is sweet. The hunger licks its lips. She’s right to fear me, to fear this emptiness inside me.

She’s right to fear, but she shouldn’t have to. She was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. She doesn’t deserve to be held captive by fear. She has to see just how much control Varia and the command has over me. She has to see she’s safe.

With my hands outstretched, I move toward her. She pulls back far too late—my fingers brushing her mouse-brown curls. The command has me in its jaws in the time it takes to blink, wrapping its tendrils about my arms and legs and forcing them to move toward the forest that touches the shooting range. The command must think the relative isolation of the shadows between the trees is secluded enough, because I stride quickly and purposefully through the grass, over the picnic blanket, around trunks and branches until I am alone.

My hands poise the bejeweled dagger on their own, and I suck in a breath and watch the blade’s beautiful tip kiss the fabric over my stomach. I steel myself, but Varia was right—the stomach is an awful place to be stabbed. Things tend to rupture and twist, and blood pools inside abdominal cavities. I grit my teeth and watch the dagger fly, once, twice, thrice, and the last stab catches something vital in me and my legs buckle out with the pain. My cheek presses into the pine needles, suddenly warm and wet from my blood, and my eyes start to dim as my ears do.

The sound of a horrified gasp cut short resounds in the forest, and then Varia’s calm, fading voice.

“…see—this will deter her from ever touching you. You have nothing to fear, Fi. She’s mine. Magic has made her mine. And I’ll never let her hurt you.”

9

9

Glass
and Bone