Herald of the Witch's Mark by Kellen Graves

Author:Kellen Graves [Graves, Kellen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-19T16:00:00+00:00

22

THE NIGHTMARE

Blood spilled freely from Saffron’s nose, coating his tongue and dripping from the corners of his mouth. It reminded him too much of Ostara. How wild he must have looked then, even with a veil on. How grateful he was for all other courtiers to be gathered in the ballroom to witness the drama unfolding there, so as to not cross paths with him. Would they think he was a ghost? Would they think the rowan witch who cursed Taran mac Delbaith had torn free of their silver and yew tomb, only to come and wreak havoc on them and their grandiose party all over again? Despite everything, he smirked. Bitterly. It tasted like rust and copper.

Doing his best to recall the way to the dorms from the first time he visited, he cursed himself for being so drunk that time, too. He had to stop following the lead of all the fey around him at every party—it was going to get him killed. It was going to result in nothing but foggy memories of his entire first year of school. Still, he managed to hurry with an unbalanced gait through the expansive palace gardens, constantly wiping blood from his nose and mouth on his sleeve, growing more and more unsteady with every step as the wooziness kicked in. Dizziness from earlier glasses of wine, from the amount of blood spilling out of him, the adrenaline inebriating him worse than any fairy wine ever could.

The gardens were dark, silent, empty in every direction. God, he hoped Cylvan was alright. He knew Cylvan, of all people, could handle such a delicate situation with all the grace and aplomb of a prince—but he couldn’t silence the worries that they would do something horrible to him. All those people in that room, not a single ally once Saffron left. God, he prayed they would not choose that night to turn on him. He prayed, even with how much they disliked him, at least Copper, or Maeve, or Sionnach would do something, anything, to step in, if things took a turn for the worst. He would never forgive them, otherwise. Maybe he should have told them that before he left.

He pressed a hand to his chest when it wouldn’t stop throbbing in pain. His vision grew fuzzier the harder he pushed himself, a combination of every faculty breaking down at once beneath the weight of crushing, frantic worry. His friends. His friends. He had to know if they were safe. He had to make sure they were safe, first, then he could collapse and die. Even more than Letty, Hollow, and Nimue—Saffron worried for every human there in the dorms. He even worried about Ryder, if it was true he was there to take more beantighes back to the Finnian Ruins. He worried there were other arid magic users unprepared for their things to be rifled through, either, not given enough warning to hide taboo belongings. He worried he would arrive to people

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