On the tenth day, Morwen died.
Not before the transfer.
During it.
She’d known it was coming. The night before, tucked into the alcove behind the basin, she’d told Aria in that calm, matter-of-fact voice she used whenever she spoke about terrible things.
“The final piece costs the most, my queen. A body clings to that last fragment longer than any other. Once it’s taken, whatever keeps me breathing leaves with it. I’ll follow the piece into death. That’s how it’s always happened when one witch carries the seal alone. My mother warned me of it years ago. She was right about everything else. She was right about this too.”
Aria hadn’t tried to change her mind.
There was no point.
She’d simply sat beside the old witch and held her hand.
The hours drifted by in silence.
Eventually Morw
