Aurora followed the light. Torches on either side of the passageway dimmed as she passed. With every step, the green orb floated another step away, guiding her down the corridor, around the corner, farther from the guards.
She knew she should stop. She knew she should turn back. But what could Celestine do to her? There was nothing left for the witch to take away. And if she was here, Aurora needed to know what she had to say. She needed to see her.
The light paused in front of a blank expanse of wall. Aurora walked closer, her arm outstretched, until her fingers were inches away. Then the light melted into the wall itself, making the stone glow for a heartbeat before fading back into darkness.
Still Aurora followed. Her fingers met a hint of resistance as they brushed the stone, more a memory of a barrier than a barrier itself, and then she was stepping through the wall, the corridor slipping away.
The room beyond was round and bare, without windows, without doors, without anything but dust and stone. The green light hovered in the center, just above Aurora’s head, casting shadows across the walls.
A woman stood beside it, her fingertips dancing across the light as though caressing the feathers of a bird. Her blonde hair curled around her elbows, and the light emphasized the cheekbones in her heart-shaped face. Everything about her was either sharp or soft, from her tiny, pointed nose to the long nails at the end of her delicate fingers. All so familiar, but it took Aurora a moment to place her. She was the woman from the square, the one who had watched her with hunger in her eyes.
“Aurora,” she said, stretching her red lips into a smile. “How good of you to join me.”
“Celestine,” Aurora said. The witch nodded. “You’re alive.”
“Of course,” she said. “You didn’t think something as fleeting as time would stop me, did you? I have been watching you since you awoke.”
Aurora screwed her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms. The pain helped to keep her focused. She could not be afraid. “Watching, but not speaking to me?” she said. “You should have introduced yourself.”
“I did not think you would welcome my presence,” Celestine said. “And I admit, I wanted to see what you would do alone. It was rather unimpressive, I must say.”
“And yet you’re talking to me now.”
Celestine tilted her head. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, seeming to flow in the green light. “Well, you finally showed some potential. I wanted to congratulate you. You put on quite a show today. It made my skin buzz to see it.” Her smile felt like it was nestled under Aurora’s skin. “It was good to feel that way again, after so many years.”
Aurora’s fists tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That little explosion,” she said. “Attacking your true love . . . not the sweetest of things to do on your engagement day. It is lucky you are not more powerful, or you might have set the boy on fire.”
“Those explosions weren’t me.”
“Not at first,” she said. “But the last one. Oh, your anger was something to behold. I knew you had the strength of it in you. You hated him in that moment, didn’t you, Aurora?” She spoke lightly, as though it were all theoretical, a mild curiosity she had observed. “Hated him and his family and all this ridiculous show? And you could not stop it. You did not mean to, but it burst out of you.”
“I do not hate him,” Aurora said. And it was true. But, she realized, only partly true. She could not hate Rodric, the sweet, awkward prince, but she could hate Rodric, the prince who awoke her, who spoke of true love and happily ever after and forced her into this fate. She could hate everything he represented, and in that moment, with the chaos of the crowd, her panic and anger at the guard, her fear for the girl, it had come out. She had, for the briefest of moments, hated him.
And the ground exploded around him.
But that was a coincidence.
“I did not want to come to you before you had proved yourself,” Celestine said. “I cannot abide useless people, Aurora, and I did not want to do everything for you myself. But now you have done this, now you’ve shown the fire in you . . . I think it is time we came to an arrangement.”
Aurora stepped back, moving slowly, keeping her weight on the balls of her feet. “An arrangement?”
“Each of us has things that the other needs. You have magic, Aurora, burning inside you. And there is so very little of that left, even for me. But I know how to use it. I know how to make it count.”
Aurora could not look away. Celestine was lying, she had to be lying. But a tightness had formed in Aurora’s chest, compelling her to listen. “What are you offering me?”
Celestine slid closer, her footsteps so light that she seemed to float on the stone. “A choice,” she said. “If you wished to use this power, to make these people suffer for every indignity they’ve given you . . . I could give that to you. And if you don’t want it, I can make all of this go away. I could send you back to your family, let you be with them again.”
Aurora’s heartbeat pounded through her, counting out the seconds. The witch was trying to ensnare her, she knew it. She knew, but she could not look away. “What would I have to do?”
“Come with me,” Celestine said. She was so close now that Aurora could see every dip in her smooth, porcelain skin. She ran her fingers through Aurora’s hair, tangling the strands around her knuckles. “Let me teach you. Allow your power to strengthen me, return me to the woman I was before. I am a mere shadow of myself, Aurora. But you are the key. They are not lying when they say you can bring magic back. And once you have learned all I have to tell you, once you have done as I wish, you can make your own choice. You can stay with me, or you can return to your family, and never have to worry about me again.”
“But others would,” Aurora said. “If I help you, you’ll hurt others.”
“Perhaps,” Celestine said. “But only those who deserve it.”
Aurora still did not move. “You’re a liar,” she said. “Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done, how many broken deals you’ve made? Why would I ever trust you?”
“I never once broke an agreement,” Celestine said. She freed her fingers from Aurora’s hair and brushed one sharp fingernail along the sweep of Aurora’s jaw. “It is not my fault if people chose their bargains badly, or if they broke them once they were made. But you are clever, are you not, Aurora? You were meant for this. You will not have to marry the prince. You will not have to continue here, pretending that you can be happy, when we both know you cannot. I can offer you everything, Aurora. You could be with your family again.”
Aurora stepped back, jerking away from the witch’s touch.
“My family is dead,” she said. “I should be dead too, if not for your curse. I would help you, and you would kill me, and call it a fair bargain. Isn’t that right?”
“Perhaps,” Celestine said. “If you did not join me. But you will want to join me. With me, you’ll be who you were meant to be. You have so much potential inside you, and I would help you.”
Aurora’s throat was dry. “I will not help you,” she said. “Not ever. Do you understand?”
“Poor, na?ve girl.” Celestine reached for Aurora, her fingers sliding through her hair, and Aurora jerked away. Her back thudded against the wall. “I am all there is for you now.” Her voice was still soft, almost ethereal, like nothing she said mattered much to her at all, but then she moved, snatching both of Aurora’s wrists. She squeezed so tightly that Aurora felt like her bones would snap. “Come with me, and you can avoid a lot of death and heartache. Wait, and this world will grind you up until you are begging for me to help you. You do not want that, now, do you? I am offering you an easier path, Aurora. An easier life.”
“I don’t want anything you have to offer me.” Aurora pulled her arms away, but she could not loosen Celestine’s grip. The witch’s fingernails dug into her wrists, prying between the bones.
“A pity,” Celestine said. “You will look back on this moment and regret it, I promise you.”
“I will not.” She yanked her wrists away again, but Celestine did not let go. “If you want me to go with you, you’ll have to force me. And I will fight you every moment if you do. You cursed me. If you’re looking for an ally, you won’t ever find one in me.”
Celestine sighed. The breath brushed against Aurora’s cheek. “I am not the monster you think me to be,” she said. “I have rules, Aurora, and there is no satisfaction in forcing anyone to do anything. I always give people the choice to refuse me. Even on the rare occasions, like today, when they would be fools to say no.”
“You did not give me a choice when you cursed me.”
“Did I not?” Celestine tilted her head again, a mockery of puzzlement. “I remember it differently.” She released Aurora’s wrists and glided back. Her eyes glinted in the darkness, blue and unforgiving. “Go then, if you must,” she said. “When you change your mind, remember I will be close. You will come to me. Together, we will be wonderful.” The green light sputtered behind her, and the wall behind Aurora’s back seemed less solid, her shoulder slipping into the stone. “You will see, my dear,” Celestine said, and her voice echoed in Aurora’s head. “You will see.”
Aurora closed her eyes for a fraction of a moment, sucking in a breath. When she opened them again, she stood in the corridor. Celestine was gone.