Page 32 of The Faceless Queen

The line of witches to see her had finally begun to dwindle. Suddenly, the doors to the throne were pushed open, and the Hermit entered.

My mother stiffened, sitting back in her throne, her knuckles white as she held onto the armrest. She was afraid. I’d never once seen her afraid. She took a second to look my way and smiled bravely. But I was left unsettled. I knew I could feel emotions by then. And whenever my mother smiled at me, I felt warmth. Felt her love. Her joy. But not that time.

“Your Majesty.” The Hermit’s eyes darkened as he took in the line of petitioners who stood in front of him. “I must speak with you. At once.”

My mouth fell open because no one—no one—made demands of my mother. Ever.

Except the Hermit.

She cleared her throat and sat forward, her face once more schooled to neutral. She looked like herself again. Confident. Kind. Strong.

“You have returned from your travels then.” She did not address the Hermit by name. He had no name, though I’d thought for many years it was simply Hermit. He never corrected anyone if he was called that, nor offered another name or title to use instead. “Welcome back to Azeal,” she said gallantly.

“Get out,” he yelled. The petitioners turned to him in horror. He waved his hands in the air, his energy darkening to the point that the room felt heavy. “Get out, get out, get out!” he roared.

The power he showed was far greater than that of any other witch. It was the sort of power that was life-draining, life-ending, and he was exhibiting it with ease.

Many of the petitioners fled, not waiting for the queen to contradict him. Meanwhile, her guards stood at attention, their staves drawn, ready to fight.

But she shook her head, ordering them to stand down. No one, not even the queen herself, refused the Hermit. A few petitioners remained behind, still looking to her for guidance—unsure who to fear more.

She smiled kindly and shrugged, like it was me who’d had the outburst. A small child, too young for court, and not an adult male whose true age was as mysterious as his real name.

“Forgive our friend,” she said. “Five years away from court, and he is eager to share news. I see there is an urgent matter I must attend to. You are dismissed.” She waved her hand. “Petitions will reopen tomorrow at noon. Please return then, and I shall hear your concerns, I promise.” She pinned her eyes to the Hermit. “My friend,” she said, barely masking the annoyance in her voice. “We shall speak in private.”

And with a single look at my nursemaid, I was sent to my room.

I never did learn what he told her that day. Nor could I forget the way she looked when she came to see me after. There was something in her eyes, something different, like what he had said somehow was about me. She promised that was not the case. But it was the only time I could recall when I didn’t believe her.

The cold spring wind blew in my face, trussing through my hair. I shivered, wishing desperately I had some magic left. I could use it to shift into a warmer coat, or, what I should have done the moment the Hermit pulled up the weeds–shifted my body into something larger and stronger, breaking through the binds.

But I was empty. And it was starting to become painful. The Azete inside me was angry, and sharp stomach pains were its way of letting me know. It knew it had been close to feeding, feeding in a way I hadn’t allowed it to in years. Brennan had given me so much, but if things had gone my way, he might have given me everything. And now, the Azete had not only been deprived of its meal, but all the magic and energy I had so carefully collected and stored for it.

If I didn’t feed soon, it would become even more agitated, more desperate. And if I wasn’t careful. I would lose control of myself.

I turned to the Hermit without thinking, wondering if I could even feed from him. I didn’t always know I was stealing energy when I was younger. It took until I was a teenager to feel the difference between others’ emotions and my own. To recognize the feel of energy from one witch versus another. But I was positive I’d never taken any from him. Just like I never could from Geoffrey.

Was the Hermit even mortal? Or just gifted with the long lifespans we once held before the Doom? Before our magic weakened. I was positive only another Azete was safe from me…

The Hermit shook his head. His lips curled into a feline smirk. “Don’t even think about it.”

“About what?” I asked.

“I see the hunger in your eyes. You’ll get nothing from me. I feel nothing toward you. And I plan to continue feeling nothing.”

“Nothing?” I asked. There was a taunt in my voice that I knew was the Azete speaking. My voice sounded deeper, huskier. It was slight, but it was there, and it meant that the Azete was in charge. “What about pride?” My voice dropped even lower. “Are you not even a little bit proud that you were the one who finally found me? That it was you after all these years?”

He laughed. “You think you were so hard to find, don’t you, Princess? Well, you weren’t. Tell the Azete to simmer down. There’s no need for me to be proud of completing such a simple task.” He leaned forward, patting Erys’s head again. “It certainly didn’t take me seven years to find you.”

“Yes, it did,” I balked, my voice suddenly higher, more vulnerable. More mine. “You said so yourself. My aunt’s been looking for me for seven years.” Since my mother died, since I left…

“I said that’s how long your aunt’s been looking for you.” He smirked. “It has not been seven years since I began to look.”

I frowned. “And when was that?”

He chuckled. “I began tonight.” He pressed a fist to his heart. “Oh, the pride I feel. Pride.” He said the word like it was the most preposterous thing in the world.

I turned away, my cheeks heating. “You knew where I was.”