Remy, Hale, and Carys marched through the doorway, Rua taking up the rear and holding the Immortal Blade tight in her grip. Her eyes were clear and she held her chin high. In only a matter of minutes, the rest of the group had made it to the room, but still it was too late.

“Who are you?” Talhan asked the woman, stepping over a body to reach her.

The witch’s gray hair hung over her eyes as she peered up at him with a leering, crazed smile. Puffing up her chest, she lifted her hands skyward. “You know who I am,” she snarled as deep violet flames circled her fingertips. Her glowing eyes turned an eerie shade of purple. “You’ve been reading my journal.”

Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-Three

Baba Monroe,” Talhan whispered.

The High Priestess of the violet witches lifted her chin at the name. The whole room remained frozen, the echoes of battle still strumming through the charged air.

“The journal of Adisa Monroe was from hundreds of years ago,” Carys said, stepping further into the circle.

“Yes,” the witch said, her sharp eyes looking sideways at Carys. She had a nasally, age-addled voice, wrinkles around her pinched mouth, and wiry, unkempt gray hair, but her expression was formidable, even in a room of highly trained fae.

“You really did it, then?” Carys asked. “You found a way to live forever?”

“Not forever,” she muttered bitterly, glancing at the Shil-de ring on Hale’s finger. “Witch magic has always blurred the lines of life and death. The High Priestesses who came before me were too afraid to push our magic like our ancestors had. They were simpering, weak things who would rather make pretty smelling candles and braid flowers into their hair than conjure curses and grow their powers.” Her lip curled as she leered around the room. “Look what that cowardice did to my coven.”

Talhan took a step forward. The witch didn’t cower or even blink at the move. “If you have lived for centuries, why return now?”

“Magic is not an endless well. I took my time.” The way she said it made it clear she was leaving something out. There were reasons beyond biding her time that prevented her from resurrecting her coven. Her eyes scanned the space, searching for something. “I regained my power over the centuries and planted the seeds of a violet witch rebellion.”

“ ‘To sow the seeds of rebellion,’ ” Carys muttered the words written on the seed packet found in the traitor’s bag. “All of this is your doing? You and Norwood.”

The witch’s face split into a wicked grin. “The young Prince Norwood’s ambitions will reestablish our home court as the power it should have always been. He was wise to accept my aid.” She glanced at Rua and then Remy. “Wiser than your brother.”

They all rocked backward, as if that revelation had caused a wave of magic to push them over.