Kaelen touched his throat where the collar had been. “I’ve worn chains I didn’t choose. I’d rather wear one I do.” At midnight, they stood in the center of the tower. The curse came like a storm—black wind, screaming faces, the weight of a hundred years of loneliness pressing down. Morwen’s knees buckled. Kaelen caught her.
She whispered a word. The collar shattered into rust flakes. Kaelen gasped as magic flooded back into him—wild, silver, raw—his ears ringing, his fingers sparking with light. He fell forward, and she caught him. the elven slave and the great witch’s curse
“Why?” he asked into her shoulder.