She did not dare go to the silver room and open the box to find out. She needed Hecate if she was to use that power, and to summon Hecate, she needed royal blood.

She needed Selene to submit. Every day, Chrysate grew weaker. The effort of keeping herself disguised was wearing on her. Finally, the deteriorating condition of her body had become too obvious. The spell she was about to perform was necessary. If she appeared as she truly was, Selene would never give herself over willingly, and that would invalidate all of Chrysate’s efforts.

Beauty was a tremendous part of her currency, both with Augustus and with Selene. Who would trust her as she truly was?

She scarcely trusted herself.

Groaning with effort, she opened a small leather pouch and pulled from it a bronze cauldron large enough to hold a boar. She settled the cauldron atop the flame, and tugged open the pouches that held the supplies she’d brought from her cave. Crystalline sand from the beach at the end of the world, and a pinch of frost gathered from beneath the shine of a thousand-night moon. The feathered wings of a screech owl, struggling against her hands and threatening to fly from her even as she crushed them into the cauldron. Nectar from a star torn from the sky one night long ago, when Chrysate was only a girl. The powdered liver of a stag that had once been a prince. The entrails of a man who had once been a wolf. The eyeless head of a crow, which opened its dry black beak and spoke to her as she brought it from the bag.

“Murderer,” it said.

She no longer listened to it. She brought out a dry olive branch and stirred the mixture, letting it come to a boil over the fire, and as she stirred, the branch grew glossy green leaves. Chrysate let a bit of the contents of the cauldron boil over, and where they landed, the stone floor became grass, and flowers began to bloom.

It was ready.

She removed her gown, shuddering at the condition of her flesh. She was withered. She’d let it go much too long, trying to conserve her power, trying to contact Hecate, and it was a miracle Augustus had not noticed. Of course, his theriac had something to do with that. She had introduced a few ingredients to it. Nothing that would disable the man permanently. She did not seek to topple Rome. She sought to use Rome’s power, and for that, Rome needed to be stable. Selene, on the other hand, seemed to notice everything. Chrysate reassured herself. After this spell, Selene would not see through her. Things would be easier.

She lifted her knife and, wincing, pressed the point into her flesh just below one ear. She drew it beneath her chin, and a long wound appeared across her throat. Blood ran in torrents from it, thick scarlet down the pale skin. The witch’s eyes rolled back, and she swayed before the cauldron, blood pooling at her feet.