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Back Kingdom of the Wicked
Chapters (58)
  1. About the Author
  2. Title Page
  3. Imprint Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Map
  7. Contents
  8. Prologue
  9. One
  10. Two
  11. Three
  12. Four
  13. Five
  14. Six
  15. Seven
  16. Eight
  17. Nine
  18. Ten
  19. Eleven
  20. Twelve
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Sixteen
  25. Seventeen
  26. Eighteen
  27. Nineteen
  28. Twenty
  29. Twenty-One
  30. Twenty-Two
  31. Twenty-Three
  32. Twenty-Four
  33. Twenty-Five
  34. Twenty-Six
  35. Twenty-Seven
  36. Twenty-Eight
  37. Twenty-Nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. Thirty-Six
  45. Thirty-Seven
  46. Thirty-Eight
  47. Thirty-Nine
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-One
  50. Forty-Two
  51. Forty-Three
  52. Forty-Four
  53. Forty-Five
  54. Forty-Six
  55. Forty-Seven
  56. Forty-Eight
  57. Acknowledgments
  58. Endmatter page 1

I rolled onto my side, contemplating the most troubling questions of all; if she hadn’t taken her protection amulet off, who did and where was it now?

If a witch hunter discovered who she was, it was possible he took it as a prize. Maybe he suspected it was an actual magical object, unlike other human-made amulets. My thoughts turned to that dark-haired stranger again. Dressed in such fine clothes, he certainly wasn’t a member of the holy brotherhood. And he didn’t look like the sort to turn his life over to God. He seemed too defiant for religion. I hadn’t met a witch hunter before, so I couldn’t rule that out. Maybe he was a thief—he’d certainly moved around the shadows with ease.

I cursed myself for not chasing after him when I had the chance. When he fled, he took all of my answers with him. Except things weren’t entirely hopeless. I sat up, heart racing, and yanked open the drawer on my nightstand. Metal glinted in the light. He’d made one giant mistake; he’d dropped his dagger. Surely someone, somewhere would recognize such a unique blade.

My thoughts settled. That was it, then. I had something to focus on aside from falling apart and reliving that night over and over.

I took a few deeps breaths, steeling myself against the next wave of tears and vowed—one way or another—to find the mysterious stranger and discover exactly who he was, what he was doing, and how he knew my sister.

And if he was the person who’d stolen her from me, I’d make him pay with his own life.

Seven

Seven

No matter how hard I dug my heels in and tried to halt time, three weeks passed since we’d buried my sister. Three weeks of laying in her bed in our shared room, crying into the sheets that were slowly fading with her lavender and white sage scent.

On good days I came downstairs and sat before the fire in our kitchen, staring into the flames. I imagined myself burning. Not like our ancestors at the stake. An ember of anger was slowly igniting within me, reducing the person I used to be to ash.

At times my simmering rage was the only indication I was still alive.

After dinner service tonight, Nonna kept casting wary glances my way, muttering charms of good health and well-being while scouring our family grimoire. She didn’t understand the hatred I was being consumed with. Didn’t see how I longed for revenge.