Page 34 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

“The memory. Your compulsion. Is there no way for you to emancipate yourself from Winter’s service?” she asks.

I could tell her that I lied to Macha—that I freed myself from the need to follow Liskaal’s orders some time ago. But I need an opening for my plans to succeed. I can pretend and be patient for a little longer. I would like to trust her, but the risk is too great, and I’ve been alone too long.

I respond to her question, ignoring her sympathy. “My cousin would need to believe that I pose no threat to his rule.”

A frown creases her thick, arched brows. “Impossible. How do you prove you’ll never do something?”

“Precisely. You might be the only person who’s ever grasped my situation.” Freedom will never be given to me; I must take it.

“That might be because you discourage conversation,” Thea points out.

I’m under no illusions. She wouldn’t spend time with me if we hadn’t been assigned to hunt fugitives together. Yet I cannot say that I regret this particular task.

“It has been longer than I can recall since I spent this much time with anyone.”

She smiles slightly. “Are you complaining?”

“I am not.”

Has her expression warmed? In the light, she is lovely, all amber hued, with eyes like gemstones and hair that tumbles wildly down her back. This is how she’s meant to be seen, framed by the wild greenery of Macha’s yard. We stand a few paces apart, just…gazing at each other, and I know I should say something.

Thea steps closer.

As if I’m pulled toward her, I do as well, wondering what will happen when I reach her. A touch? Perhaps she’ll ask to feed from me again. I’ve grown used to the feeling and would even welcome channeling some of that rage toward a brighter purpose. There is a faint tension now, and she reveals it by biting her lip. I’ve seen that sign in others, people participating in a courting dance.

My heart kicks in my chest at the mere idea. But she can’t mean it that way. It’s impossible.

I’m Winter’s hound.

Before I can react, Macha sweeps into the front garden with a triumphant gesture. And pauses. “Oh. Have you forgotten that you’re recently married?” she asks Thea.

I swallow an instinctive curse.

She has been granted to another, promised without her volition, and now my wrath is back, rising in an inevitable tide. Not that it matters. Power grants authority to anger, and I have never sought the former. I learned from my father’s mistakes. While I do scheme, I do so quietly, furtively, and with altogether different ends.

Thea clears her throat. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“Mm,” Macha says with an articulate lift of her brow.

I want to protest, but it seems better to redirect. “Never mind her personal life. Your aspect tells me you’ve learned something vital.”

“You cannot find them because they did not use magic. They passed from the palace using concealed tunnels and have made their way through natural means.”

That confirms my theory. When I opened the secret panel in the wardrobe, I suspected what had transpired, but it’s good to have my supposition validated. That means the Summer delegation has numerous allies, conspirators concealed within the Winter court. If my cousin truly compelled my service or my loyalty, as he did in the old days, I would be forced to reveal precisely what I know. But all bindings lose power over time, and those who feast on cruelty grow complacent, secure in their displays of force.

“You have eyes everywhere,” Thea says.

“Indeed I do. Every lizard, every serpent, every toad whispers to me.”

Thea seems to believe that flattery is the way to go. “You’re incredible. Second to none in secrets and skullduggery.”

“Most impressive,” I add, because she might be correct. While I have heard of Macha, I have never met her ere now. And I recall the rumor about my mother. I wonder if she’ll address it. “Will you permit a personal inquiry?” I add.

Does the swamp witch smile slightly? “Personal? Hmm. I’ll allow it from you. But don’t make a habit of this.”

“People said that my mother…” How do I ask this? Simplicity is best, I think. “Were you related to her?”

To my surprise, she steps closer, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers. When she circles around me, I feel faintly concerned but not threatened. “I did idly wonder if they shared those stories still.”