bChapter 181 /b

    I feel the salty water rush in, filling my mouth, my throat, flooding my lungs. My nails press into Evanora’s flesh so hard I’m sure I have her skin under them. I scream again, shake my head to free some strands stuck to my face, and then I see a ck stain pour from my mouth. I ino /ilonger bknow /bif my screams are from drowning or from the fear of whatever ising out of me. My spine arches, and I feel something inside me is wrong, as if an animal were wing at my stomach to get out. Tears of pain dissolve into the sea. My body loses its strength and slowly goes limp, giving in. My vision clouds, and I’m sure my next blink will be myst–until Evanora grips me firmly and hauls me out of the water. I cough uncontrobly, expelling thest traces bof /bthat ck liquid along with the seawater. Her hand rubs circles on my back, urging me to keep coughing and spitting. My throat and lungs burn, each

    breath like fire.

    “It’s over, shhh… easy. It’s overb, /beverything’s fine.”

    I cling to her tighter because I feel my legs could give out at any moment. A small sob escapes my

    throat.

    “I’m sorry, ra.” She presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I know it’s unpleasant. You have to be clean inside to receive that kind of magic.”

    I hear her without really listening; I’m lost, in an almost catatonic state. In fact, I don’t even feel it when we leave the water. I think I’m walking purely on inertia, mechanically. The banshee throws me a few worried nces as we make our way back to Naja.

    We enter her hut, neither of us caring about the mess our wet dresses leave in our wake. I’ve never seen the room she leads me to. It’s flooded with the light and heat of candles, and in the center is what looks like a chair designed for torture. My head snaps into high alert. I’m inot /isure I can endure this.

    “She’s clean,” Evanora reports.

    Naja is lighting thest candles. Her hair, full of beads and braids, is tied in a high bun. The moment her eyes fall on me, my whole body shudders, and I fear it’s not from the chill of my wet skin.

    “Sit down, dear.”

    She gestures to the chair, but I stay frozen. Naja notices, frowns, and rolls her eyes, as if I were a spoiled child.

    “I won’t lie to you. It will hurt.” She ces her hands on her hips. “You asked for this, girl. Don’t expect it to be a walk in the park. You’ll beg me to stop, you’ll cry, you’ll want to tear your own skin off, but in the end, you’ll have what you want. Nothing will grow inside you–your womb will be dead.”

    A bitter lump lodges in my throat, and I have to force myself to swallow it. Step by step, with trembling knees, I move toward the chair. I sit down, and when Naj? slides the straps over my wrists, securing me in ce, my body jerks involuntarily. She does the same with my ankles.

    My mouth feels dry, my stomach churns.

    “Put this on her,i” /ishe tells Evanora. “We don’t want her biting her own tongue.”

    With reluctance, my friend approaches me with a kind of gag. She ces it between my teeth and fastens it behind my head. A cold sweat trickles down my neck.

    The witch gives me onest look before cutting both her palms, squeezing them into fists to make the blood flow. Her chanting revives the mes, making the ce so bright it’s as if the sun itself had taken residence in the room. The heat causes a thin sheen of sweat to cover my skin. I squirm in ce, wondering when the pain will start. All I feel is heat–intense heat–and nausea. I pray it won’t get worse, or I’ll choke on my own vomit. What a pathetic way to die.

    Naja reaches toward the banshee, who joins her in the chant. The words echo in the room, drilling into my ears. My vision darkens in waves, and with rapid blinks I try to stay conscious, though I know it’s only a matter of time before this sensation shaking my body drags me into unconsciousness.

    The witch’s eyes move restlessly under her eyelids, blood pooling into two small puddlesb, /bsweat beading on her forehead. The heat bin /bmy womb intensifiesb, /bmaking me arch my back. I dig my nails into the armrests, bracing for the inevitable pain. I clench my teeth against the gag, and bjust /bbwhen /bbthe /bbburning /bin my womb bes btoo /bmuch, the entire room goes dark, plunging into shadow. I hear the ragged breathing bof /bboth the witch and bthe /b

    bansheeb. /b

    “bI /bbcan’t/bb./b”

    b1/2 /b

    “What do you mean, you can’t?” Evanora asks.

    “I can’t do it,” the witch repeats. “Not without her knowing the truth.”

    I blink in the darkness, seeing nothing until a snap of Naja’s fingers lights some of the candles again. The banshee’s face is one of total bewilderment, while the witch looks scandalized. She quickly approaches me and removes the gag from my

    mouth.

    “What is it? Why did you stop?”

    I think, for the first time, the witch looks at me with something like concern. She brushes a sweaty strand of hair from my face and strokes me in a maternal way.

    “Girl, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?”

    I search her face in confusion.

    “What have I done?”

    Her hand stops caressing my cheek and slowly moves down my body until it rests on my lower abdomen–right where the burning had just vanished.

    “You’re pregnant,” she says softly. “You carry Cassian’s child, ra…”