A long-suffering sigh escaped her as if she knew I was questioning her loyalties. “It is not, however, a crime in this house. The spiders have never stepped foot in my home. They never will.” A whisper that promised violence.
Still, best to get this conversation over with. I braced myself, and asked, “Can you make sure no one’s listening?”
Hazel didn’t seem surprised at my request. “You’ve obviously had dealings with witches before, so let me assure you that this house has long been warded against fae hearing and sensory spells. I’d never attract any clients if it wasn’t—particularly females of your age.”
“My age?”
She gave me her first warm smile. “Yes, it’s usually birth control or a love potion. Is that why you’re here?”
Gods. Birth control. This woman was likely responsible for changing my entire life. That was what she thought?
That idea alone was enough to spur my blood, lending me the courage to drag the necklace out from under my cloak. “Do you remember me now?”
Confusion. Then … A horrible recognition pressed in as she stared at the droplet, transfixed. Hazel’s hand came to rest on her throat and she blinked, wide-eyed. A ghost had taken her place. She croaked, “Did Sati send you?”
I eyed her narrowly. “Who’s Sati?”
Hazel pulled a face. As if I were mad. “Your mother.”
My heart was beating so fast: too fast. “Her name was Sarah.”
Hazel snorted and sprang up; the armchair released an audible sigh. Gods, was everything alive in this house? She placed a hand on the fireplace and stared into the hearth for a second, looking distant.
Dead. Silence.
Finally, something clicked under her features and she met my gaze, sadness etched into her face. “Are you here alone because your mother’s gone?”
A nod. That was all it took for a tidal wave of grief to barrel into me—unexpected and unwanted. My vision blurred and lowered to the floor. I sucked a steadying breath in, out, in, out.
“Serena?”
My chin lifted. “How do you know my name?”
Hazel continued. “Your mother told me that’s what she was going to call you … I’m so sorry for your loss. I only wish I could’ve been there.”
“It’s fine. She passed when I was six. I barely remember her.”
Liar. Now I’d done it. A deluge of fat, salty tears ran down my cheeks; my chest shuddered as I tried in vain to keep the sobs locked inside.
“Would a song cheer up the mistress?” I heard from behind.
A mousy squeak passed my lips.
“Not right now, Hatty. Don’t mind the hat rack. She’s got a terrible sense of timing.”
Salazar’s springs groaned as Hazel’s weight settled on the couch. She wrapped her strong arms around me. A motherly hug. I cried harder, hiccuping, “So—so—sorry.”
Hazel clucked. “Don’t be silly. Here …” Releasing me, she dipped into her linen pants pocket and handed over a hanky.
Aside from the occasional sympathetic clucking sound from Salazar, I mopped my face up in silence. Once the honking and sobbing had receded on my part, Hazel returned to her seat. “I’d like to hear your story … Serena.” She said my name with a smile.
I shook my head and bit my lip. “I came here for answers.”
Hazel was quiet but forceful. “You shall have them, but I must hear how you came to be here. What you already know.”
A harsh, weak laugh broke free. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Hazel gave me a thin smile. “From the beginning.”
My story—warts and all—poured out. I didn’t expect it to be so hard. Showing Frazer had been easy, in a way. No need for explanations.
A decorative clock above the fireplace marked the time; my sorry tale took twenty minutes to relay. When Hunter and Kesha finally came up, Hazel interrupted with a mighty huff. “Wild Hunt, indeed. A fancy word for slavers. Morgan always did have a flair for narrative.”
I felt awkward telling her the next part. About how Hunter had helped me and become a friend—sort of. I needn’t have worried. She hardly reacted. Neither did she so much as blink at my revelations regarding Auntie or the trials. The only sign of alarm came upon hearing about the eerie and the magic now in my system. I finished with our trip to Maggie OneEye, and that we’d used this quest as an excuse to seek out the Priestess—her.
Now finished, Hazel’s face had grown pinched and lined. “You must hate me.”
What could I say? “I guess it depends.”
She cawed, “An honest answer. Before we continue, d’you wish to wait for your friend—this Adrianna—to be with you? Because I must warn you that what I have to say will be difficult to hear.”
My belly crawled with nerves. “Just … tell me.”
She closed her eyes. As if in pain. “I suppose I should start with why I’d strip a babe still in the womb.”
She reeked of guilt. No wonder: in the womb? My mother must’ve known then, and lied about everything, even her name. To me. To her husband. The world got kicked out from under me. Off-kilter, spinning, I clutched my stomach and collapsed farther back into the couch—into Salazar.
Hazel continued. “First, it was your mother’s decision to remove her magic, and through her, yours.”
I blurted out, “So, my mother had her own magic?”
A quick nod had a shudder climbing my spine. I’d tangled with the thought of her as a witch, but to have it confirmed … That was something else.
The Priestess went on. “The only reason she tracked me down here was because I was more well-versed in such spells. I only agreed to perform it to protect you both from Morgan.”
My stomach flipped over again and again. That meant … “My mother was here—in Aldar?”
Hazel let out a small, sad sigh. “Sati was born here.”
My screaming pulse pounded in my ears as I dared to ask, “And stripping my magic was the only way to protect us from Morgan?”
Hazel tipped her head, assessing. “Think of it like this: all magic leaves a footprint—something that can be tracked by a skilled witch-hunter, or the right scrying spell. And Morgan was not only a prodigy, she was utterly dogged in her pursuits. My strongest wards and protections wouldn’t have lasted forever, so we needed to do something extreme. Something that obliterated all magical trace and exiled you to land that, at least back then, was out of Morgan’s reach.”
Hazel paused, rallying. One heartbeat in time was about all I could manage before urging her on. “How did you meet my mother?”
The Priestess’s brown eyes cut through me. That look told me this was would be difficult to hear. Shit, shit, shit.
“I met her through your father, who I’d been married to for a time. Thankfully we’d gone our separate ways when they found each other, and we were able to remain friends.” A sad tilt of the mouth.
Well. That was unexpected. “What …”
Nope. I couldn’t even finish a sentence. Breathe in, out, in, out.
Had Maggie sent me to a madwoman? An imposter?
My father couldn’t have been born in Aldar. The whole village had known him since he was a babe. A Tunnock man, born and bred. I needed to clarify. “You went to the Gauntlet? You risked marriage to a human? To a blacksmith?”
Hazel was a picture of compassion. “My husband was no blacksmith. And I’ve never set a wing in the Gauntlet.”
So what, now my father had a secret life, too? I was dizzy, nauseous.
“Your father’s name was Dain Raynar. At the time of your conception, he was both seer and leader of the Crescent; otherwise known as the Witch King.”
A physical blow to my core, pushing me down, down, down.
I shook my head with vigor. “No. His name was Halvard.”
Hazel’s voice was gentle. “Halvard wasn’t your father, Serena. Sati was already pregnant when she fled Aldar. He cannot be your sire.”
Some distant fragment of my soul resonated, ringing with that truth. A dread, heated and fierce, rose from belly to heart to throat as I opened my mouth. “My mother—Sati—left this Dain and then married another man … What was my father—what was Halvard to her? Just a convenience? Someone who could be tricked into raising another man’s child?”