But Livius was starting to gain on him.
He couldn’t think about that. He could only think about how low the sun was, now only a sliver of light at the horizon as he drew closer to the cliffs.
The villa was in his sights. Thank the goddess he hadn’t forgotten which direction to run and, in his daze, headed south instead. There was nothing in the south that interested him. Only the west. Only the villa that perched upon the cliffs overlooking the sea—an expanse of silvery water that reflected the sinking sun and, with it, Magnus’s last remaining hope that he could return to his home.
He stumbled as he entered the villa’s grounds but righted himself immediately, thankfully not falling to the ground. That would surely be the end of him.
The gardens engulfed him, but the sound of insects and birds, the sweet scent of the flowers and trees, the bushes shaped into mythical creatures—all blurred together as he rushed through.
Magnus had only one target in his sights: the statue of Valoria.
Twenty paces away. Fifteen. Ten.
A glance over his shoulder showed him that Livius was only an arm’s reach away, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a violent scowl.
Magnus slapped his bloody hand against the statue a mere moment before he felt the crush of Livius’s arm around his throat.
And then Livius disappeared.
The garden disappeared.
And Magnus now had his right hand pressed to the surface of the crumbling, ice-covered remnants of the goddess’s statue.
When he exhaled, his breath created a thick cloud in the frozen air.
“So . . .” a voice cut through his concentration. “It seems you were successful.”
Trembling, either from the sudden and drastic change in temperature or the fact that he’d just escaped death by the span of a single heartbeat, Magnus turned to face the old woman and found he had no words with which to answer her.
Her gray brows rose. “The Prince of Blood is speechless. My, how unexpected.” She gestured to him with her taloned hand. “Give it here, boy.”
Magnus held out the obsidian blade, and she snatched it away from him without a single word of gratitude. Her wrinkled mouth turned up into a smile. “Very good.”
“What will you do with it?” he managed. “Whom will you kill?”
She looked at him, amusement in her faded green eyes. “Kill? My dear boy, killing is in my past. My distant past. This blade—it’s all for me.”
His eyes widened as she pulled back the sleeve of her cloak, then pressed the edge of the blade to her skin, slicing deeply. Crimson blood flowed, dripping to the ground.
Magnus pressed back against the ruin of the statue, certain he was witnessing the old woman take her own life.
She squeezed her eyes shut, the smile still fixed upon her wrinkled face. “I can feel it already,” she murmured. “Samara’s magic is as strong as always.”
Magnus watched with disbelief as the old woman’s appearance began to change, stunned to realize that this was the opposite of what he’d witnessed with Samara. The old woman’s wrinkles smoothed, her skin firmed. Her gray hair turned to ebony, her lips plumped and became the red of fresh roses. She straightened her back, the hunch completely gone. Her smile widened, showing off sparkling white teeth.
And when she opened her eyes, now framed with thick black lashes, they were a vivid emerald green.
She was, without exception, the most beautiful creature Magnus had ever seen in his entire life.
Yet her left hand was still that of a taloned bird of prey.
“Who are you?” he asked, his throat tight.
“Hush,” she said, her voice now melodious and hypnotic. She took hold of his wounded hand, clasping it in her good hand. “Time grows short. When I heal this mark, you will forget all that has happened today.”
“No.” Magnus attempted to pull away from her, but she was shockingly strong. “I can’t forget. I need to remember—remember what I’ve seen, what I’ve learned, who I’ve met.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she said patiently. “You will forget. Those whose paths have crossed with yours will also forget you.”
“No . . . my friend—he needs to remember me!” Maddox had to remember what Magnus had told him about changing his life for the better.
The witch shook her head. “It has to be this way, don’t you see?”
“Don’t I see? I see nothing except a selfish witch who thinks she has a say in my destiny.”
“Your destiny? My dear, this errand has been entirely about me. You were simply the tool I used to get what I needed. Trust me, if I could use this gateway myself, I would. The things I would change . . .” She shook her head, her gaze growing wistful. “Far too numerous to count. Now hush and allow me to borrow some more of Samara’s magic to compensate for my own.”
Her hands began to glow with golden light, and the pain from his wound intensified. Still, he couldn’t seem to pull away from her.
Finally, she released him and nodded. “It’s done. Farewell, young man. May your path never cross mine again.”