You are right to doubt yourself, Daughter of the Night. You have failed, just as all the Lazarus witches will fail.

No! I cannot help Violet now, but she must not have died in vain. I will do my duty. I will be what I was born to be.

Slowly, painfully, I get to my feet. I let my gaze sweep the room, and I force my voice to be as clear and steady as I am able to make it.

“I am Morningstar,” I say, “true heiress to the title of Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven, and I claim my birthright!”

Chapter 6

6.

The night is cloud-laden and black, the hour too late for revelers or workers to be abroad, too early even for the milk float or fish carts. Sitting at my window, watching the stillness of the city in the late hour, I go over the events of the night before last in my mind. I have scarce managed to sleep since the ceremony, and am finding it hard to think clearly. I glance back into my empty bedroom. Only two days ago, Violet would have been with me. How horribly alone I feel, and how heavy is the weight of the guilt I carry. I should have saved her. I could have saved her, I’m sure of it, had not the wicked spirit distracted and taunted me so. I allowed him to divert my attention at the crucial moment. Violet paid for my mistake with her life. I will never forgive myself.

To compound my failing, I have had to lie about her disappearance. I have concocted a story about her running off in the night with a mystery lover. Mama believes me, saying she always knew a foundling would prove unreliable and be given to curious behavior. Withers knows the truth, and he has yet again proved his loyalty to my father, and therefore to me, by doing his best to convince the other servants that he knew of Violet’s secret liaisons. It seems it is not enough that I watched her die, but I must also besmirch her reputation.

I glance down at my legs, grateful that my heavy black skirts so completely cover the scrapes and cuts I sustained in my battle with the creature in the chamber. I recall the relief I felt when the beautiful Robe of Office was finally placed about my shoulders. The Master of the Chalice had called for a cheer of assent and the assembled witches had responded loudly and with fervor. But how could I feel any happiness? It was all I could do not to weep through the remainder of the ceremony.