The Crimson Witch: The Royal Thieves Trilogy, #2

By Ashley Olivier

She will make them pay, even if it destroys her.

The Crimson Witch is determined to free her undead army and wreak havoc on the world, both seen and unseen. Death would be too kind a mercy for those faerie traitors compared to the torment she has endured. And she will get her vengeance, no matter the cost.

Four enchanted objects, each sealed by dark blood and ancient magic, have bound her. But they also hold the power to set her free once and for all.

After being captured and imprisoned in the Black Lake, Enya and the others must find a way to undo the wicked damage done once they escape, even if that means uniting feuding faerie courts, runaway royals, and rival gangs. Deals have been made in the shadows, each at an impossible cost.

But with lies and secrecy around every turn and two more hidden relics remaining, Enya can't be sure whose word she can trust, if anyone's.

With everything hanging in the balance, can unlikely alliances keep the world from falling into darkness?

Fans of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, and The Wicked King by Holly Black can't get enough of this action-packed story!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Olivier
• Release date: Sep 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215972250

Book preview

Enya – The Retribution

THERE ARE a couple of instances where fear can ruin your life. I would know. It ruined mine on more than one occasion.

Firstly, it can ruin your life by keeping you from telling the truth. What’s that saying again? Something about the truth setting you free? I probably should have listened.

Secondly, it can ruin your life by keeping you from doing the right thing. Consequences from that? They sure do suck.

I thought was doing the right thing. All I ever wanted was to save my people, my friends, my rebels.

And three princes changed everything.

I could only hope I never let them down again.

Enya - Drogda, Skeyya

THE SUN beamed down from gray clouds on the west end of the city, murky with refinery smoke. Beneath them, the last of winter's breath twirled down in freezing rain, tangling into Enya’s hair. A crackle of lightning lit up the sky before the clouds went dark once more.

Creatures of the woods and humans alike bustled about in their winter coats, shivering as they tended to their gritty courtyard gardens and pestering children, gathering timber and kindling for fires needed to chase the cold away. It would come with a vengeance once the sun set.

A seething male voice, one Enya had come to dread, hissed from beside her on the gloomy street, You have one hour. Find something, or another pathetic human dies. It’s in your hands now. 

Anger came first, then guilt. But at least wicked faeries like him couldn’t go inside. The Seelie fae in the building had charms up for that very reason.

Enya swallowed over the lump in her throat, watching Fionn, her undead escort, disappear through the storm back to the carriage parked outside Rossborough Hall, the oldest library in the country. Darkness followed him, the last of the day disappearing as night fell upon Drogda. A faint sunset swelled above the rooftops through the clouds as thunder boomed through the city, startling horses in the street.

Fionn was practically the Crimson Witch’s dog, trailing Enya like a bloodthirsty hound. His entire demeanor was impossibly dark, save for his golden eyes that so mimicked Ballora’s and the red cravat at his neck. 

Find the sword, Enya remembered, the words piercing through her gut like an iron-hot blade. 

A reminder of her deal, sealed in crescent burns on her palms. 

Enya’s hands ached for a dagger and gun that weren’t there. For the scent of cigars and pipes that had been so customary for her Grims, the gleam of gun barrels and chains inside their coats. Her usual assurance of safety was gone, replaced by measly iron knuckles to stave off possible pickpockets and thieves. No one knew she was the Raven here. This wasn’t her city, wasn’t her territory. 

It also didn’t help that Ballora ordered her henchmen to change her appearance daily upon arrival to avoid any rebel concern, either. 

She turned back to the path leading up to the massive structure, taking a deep breath as raindrops ran down her cheeks and dampened her clothes.

The library stood tall, casting shadows onto its looming metal gates. On the outside, it appeared to be like any regular building in Skeyya, with similar architecture and familiar, muck-coated brick walls. 

Stone steps led her to a giant wooden door, one with stained-glass in all sorts of warm colors. Hues of gold and orange drew her inside a cozy room full of books of all shapes and sizes, her cheeks already turning pink from the change in temperature. The smell of burning cedar inside a fireplace and that of spiked coffee perked up her nose, and she almost laughed at the mere delight of it all. 

Row after row of antique walnut bookcases were set up throughout Rossborough Hall atop russet wooden floors. Nymphs, pixies, Banya, and goblins meandered around Enya’s small frame, careful to do so in hushed tones to avoid the displeased wrath of the librarians. Some of the library’s patrons sent books floating through the air with flurries of magick and mist shooting from their fingers, while others merely sat at ivory desks sipping on hot beverages while they eagerly leaned into their daily reads. 

A cart set up by the door held apple custard tarts and her adored black sludge. 

Finally. Something decent, Enya said with a small smile. 

From time to time, better-off creatures of the woods would bring by small treats like this. Enya guessed it had something to do with the owner being related to a Seelie priestess. 

Whatever the case, she moved to pick up one of the pastries, breathing in its scent heavily before taking a bite. She nearly moaned when the dessert crumbled on her tongue. Then her hands were picking up a cup of coffee, practically shaking from excitement. 

Months ago, the Raven would have scoffed at this kind of behavior. Food was fuel, not something to be savored often. It kept you going, it kept you quick, and it kept you alive. But now? This was the only real food she’d had since being captured. 

Her mind drifted back to the task at hand. 

The Crimson Witch believed she was here to collect information on the sword, and in part, she was. Though, Ballora was unaware of her findings in the Galtymore Mountains, which would have led their search to enemy territory in Brasova up north. 

But Enya also needed to undo this deal she had with the demon; then she might be free and finally have some peace.

And then maybe the world could forget about the Crimson Witch altogether. 

With no one to find the sword, her plans would be ruined, right? This could all be over. No one else would have to suffer under her bloody, clawed hands.

With a final pained look at the food before her, Enya stuffed her gloved hands into her pockets and began walking towards the archives downstairs through decorated halls full of knick-knacks and faerie creatures staring curiously, probably wondering what on earth a human would have to do down there. Steep steps led her to the basement, and a door locked with a magick charm kept her from the historical texts. 

She paused for a moment before recalling the words the librarian had told her. Doors hold words unspoken. The goddess has granted me a token. Why did all faerie spells have to rhyme? It felt so stupid to Enya to say these words. 

It rumbled before opening, revealing twelve giant books hovering off the ground, each spread out around an empty, limestone floor. Gas lamps kept the place from being completely dark, something the tiny window to the outside would have managed if not for a torrential thunderstorm shaking Rossborough Hall.

Now to start ‘being useful.’ 

She walked over to a text on faerie history and began to read. There had to be something in here that would get her out of this deal. Or, at the very least, shed some light on Ballora’s link to these enchanted relics. 

Enya flipped a page and then another as the day slowly drew to an end.

Fionn watched her expectantly when she made her way back to the carriage, face already dripping in scorn. 

The sun was down, and darkness had taken hold over the city. Measly mice and cats played their games in the shadows of bushes and parked carriages, scampering around to avoid anything otherwise ghastly lurking that could eat them in one sinister bite. Such was the way of things at night. 

You found nothing again? He glowered, stretching when he pushed off a column connected to the library’s metal fence. I don’t know what she sees in you. You stupid humans are all as good as rocks. Come on. 

Fionn grabbed her wrist, tossing her inside their ride as if she were worth nothing more than a pitiful sack of potatoes. The thought of being looked at so lowly made her blood boil. Their driver was then instructed to take them to the edge of the city, right at the beginning of the forest. At least the plush interior of the carriage staved off the freezing weather outside.

Outside the carriage window were tall, multi-story buildings littering wide cobblestone roads, ones full of shops and apartments. It was cramped, but at the same time, one couldn’t be bothered considering how well the locals managed through the alleyways and paths littering the city. They’d tossed their wares across their backs and in carts, shoving through the congested streets without a second thought. 

In a way, Drogda was like Arden, minus the over-crowded ports and constant smell of chimney smoke and horse slop. No, this city reeked of whiskey and beer, likely due to their several breweries. Gamblers and cab drivers would slump out of Drogda’s pubs day in and day out, reeking of alcohol and bad ideas while their cheeks remained an almost permanent crimson, laughing and promising they’d work harder to stay sober tomorrow. Storytelling was also a tradition closely held by locals, ones who would shove papers full of legends and poems right into Enya as she walked, warning of bad omens should she fail to remember the history of the saints.

But her heart was hammering in her chest, and her stomach turned in anticipation of what waited for them upon their return to the Black Lake. It was like this every week she failed to provide useful information, and every week she’d hate it more and more. 

But what choice do I have? One life or thousands? 

Guilt stirred in Enya’s bones, making her feel that much sicker. 

Upon arrival at the forest swallowing up the road leading to the next town, Fionn used magick compulsion to convince the driver to forget he’d ever seen them, as was his routine on each trip they made whenever they’d leave at the assistance of a human. 

The old man drove away, and the world around Enya and Fionn faded into mist.

The throne room of Ballora’s ruins appeared, and the familiar feeling of dread fell upon Enya, making her squeeze her eyes shut for a few harrowing seconds.

The room was massive and decrepit as usual, falling apart yet looming with a terrifying force. It smelled of death and something much more terrible Enya could never quite name. Bracing herself, she opened her eyes, forcing herself to face what would be unbearable to almost anyone else with a hint of empathy or reason.

Two figures knelt before the throne, their heads covered with dark linen bags. 

Each week that Enya failed to find something, anything at all that would lead them to the next clue, another innocent life was taken. Or in this case, two. Or ten. It didn’t matter to the Ballora what the specifics were as to why she had failed to find more clues about the Sword of Bas. Only that more blood pooled into her prison to keep her fed. 

Behind the two soon-to-be-executed figures stood the Crimson Witch herself, white hair pulled up into an intricate braid full of red gemstones that matched the color of her lips. Today she wore another one of her endless assortments of black dresses, this one satin and clinging to her curves for dear life. There was no life to be found down here, however, only death and madness.

Poor, poor little Raven thief, Ballor mocked. Nothing today? 

Enya stood silent, waiting for the inevitable. That was all she could do. Wait and watch. Anything else would get her, Carson, and Rowan killed. Would get so many people around the world killed. She repeated that to herself, over and over, begging herself not to lose sight of the big picture. Too much was on the line. 

Please let us go. Please don’t do this. We’ll pay you! a male voice came from one of the kneeling figures, his words laced with fear.

Yes! Anything you want, the second added.

The Crimson Witch sighed, her hands turning into beastly claws. She watched Enya for several seconds, as if waiting for her to stop her, to beg with the sorry souls waiting for their deaths. And she had begged, those first two times, for the demon to stop and let her victims go. But that had only encouraged her to be more vicious and gruesome with how she murdered them.

With a scoff, Ballora sliced the head off the one to her left. Blood spewed with a fury, and his body slumped to the ground. The second man, feeling the spray of blood, screamed and moaned, writhing against his chains. 

For a moment, Enya couldn’t breathe. Her palms sweat and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She needed to throw up. She needed to get out of here.

Please— he began before being cut off. 

The Crimson Witch ripped his heart out, throwing it on the once-polished marble at her feet with a disinterested expression. More red flooded the floor, leaking its way towards Enya and making her take a few disbelieving steps back. Fionn caught her by the shoulder, forcing her to stay put and watch. The demon marched up to stare her down with golden eyes full of hate, her icy-cold breath blowing onto Enya’s cheeks. 

You will find me the sword, or you will watch as I kill the citizens of your sorry country, one by one, before you, she hissed.

Enya kept her face down, staring at that pool of blood, but the witch wasn’t finished. Her voice, once seething and sinister, became playful.

Let’s just be honest with one another, Enya. I could keep killing these citizens every day, ten more, a hundred more, and you’d keep spinning your wheels, pretending and lying. She paused briefly. You’re as cold and heartless as this man here … And in many ways, it’s why I respect you. But I do need motivated servants. So, the next victim is going to be someone a little closer to that cold void of yours.

She must have signaled to someone behind her. Iron chains scraped against marble as more of her servants dragged out the next victim, only when Enya looked up …

Prince Rowan was standing before her.

Enya- The Black Lake, Brasovian Territory

THE PRINCE’S eyes met Enya’s with cool resolve from his position near the throne room doors. The chains attached to the iron collar at his neck were held in a vice-grip by a black-horned beast. Rowan refused to be afraid, she suspected. The only clue to his rage was the rough set to his jaw.

Enya couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Couldn’t force herself to accept how far things had gone.

Ballora smiled wickedly, looking between her and Rowan. He’s next, dear Raven. If you can’t come up with something within the next week, he will meet his demise, and Skeyya will have to find someone else to pick up after King Eamon’s folly.

Enya bristled, a sliver of fear slicing through her spine like an ice pick. One week. One more lost life or thousands.

What is one prince’s life worth? her mind whispered.

But it was more than that. She owed it to him after what she’d done to his mother, the late Queen Layla. Enya bore her blood like crimson gloves, and guilt still swelled inside her like a never-ending nightmare.

The Crimson Witch sneered, It appears you have two debts, my dear child. One to me, and one to your dear prince. I’d suggest you not disappoint us.

Rowan remained silent, but his jaw twitched. Even now, Enya knew his mother was a sore topic, the wound still fresh and bloody. It didn’t help that he’d been forced into chains while her killer was made responsible for his life.

You can’t do this, Enya blurted, letting her emotions slip. Her lips began to quiver, and Rowan’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

It was more than owing his mother. As much as he hated her now, she’d grown to care for him—at the very least as a friend. His brothers, too. She couldn’t keep losing people.

Believe me, the Crimson Witch snapped, I can, and I will. Take her to the dungeon. Lock him up in the chamber near Queen Ciara. Let him have a look at who I'll be feeding him to should the Raven fail.

Ballora motioned to Fionn with a disgusted nod of her head, turning to face the corpses of her most recent victims. Claws bared, she knelt in the pools of dark scarlet, allowing her gown to get damp and ruined.

But Enya was unable to see more before Fionn was dragging her by the shoulder out of the room, back to the dungeon. Her new twisted home. But unlike before when they’d first arrived, now she and her companions were split into cells Ballora had manifested with her magick. Something about seeing human interaction as pointless and distracting. And torturing them with lack of body heat and rations from others, making them cold, hungry. Desperate.

The doors slammed behind her when she stumbled inside. Metallic creaks signaled they’d been locked, only furthering the dread inside Enya.

She glowered over her shoulder at Fionn through the bars, whose lips curled back before he trudged off down the stone hall. Sighing, she sat down on her makeshift bed, one really made of hard metal someone had been kind enough to throw a thin sheet over. Their blankets down here consisted of animal pelts, likely from whichever of the Crimson Witch’s henchmen had managed to piss her off at the time. At first, that had bothered Enya, but now it was simply a part of their life down here.

Mildew and dark red stains crept up the frigid walls of the room while the scent of sulfurous rotting eggs and burnt flesh filled her nose. The room was small, as dungeon cells most often were, and extremely uncomfortable to rest in. But she’d grown used to it by now, after all this time.

Carson raised his head from the next cell over to regard her with that smoldering, signature look of his, albeit the hollows in his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He seemed to be checking for any signs of hurt, as usual, and she blushed. It made her wonder if that was simply friendly concern or something more.

I’m alive, Enya announced hoarsely. I didn’t find anything … again.

He stayed quiet, taking in the impact of what that meant.

So, that’s what those screams were about, Carson mused darkly, raking an uneasy hand through his black hair, tattoos illuminated in the faint gas lamp light above their heads.

Enya sighed. Yeah, I’m fine. I just wish this wasn’t real. She swallowed hard. They took Rowan. He’s next on the list to be …

Carson nodded slowly, expression growing stormy. Yeah, they took him shortly after you left.

More silence followed his remark.

He cleared his throat, interlocking his fingers and leaning forward to stare at the ground. We need to focus on getting out of here, Enya. Why are we still doing this? Playing this game?

She fixed him with a glare. Would you rather more innocents were killed? That Rowan, the heir to the throne, is killed?

He abruptly stood and began pacing, refusing to look at her as he crossed his arms. "What about us, Enya? Carson spun to face her, gripping the bars of his cell. We followed them all over Skeyya. We went all the way up to the border—during a war. Next was a demon portal in this haunted forest. I was shot by Sean’s men. His face twisted in contempt as he pointed to his shoulder. Let’s forget about this, go back to the Grims, and stop playing along. Let those princes sort out their mess. We have our own business to worry about. The rebellion. Or have you forgotten?"

Enya glared down at the floor, which was stained with horrible things. Just like her past, it seemed. And her present.

But he wouldn’t understand her obligation to those three princes. Carson knew what she’d done to the former queen, but in his eyes, all royals were monsters. His past was too dark, too stained by the consequences of King Eamon’s reign. No arguing about how these boys were different would change that. All rebels bore the weight of the king’s misdeeds.

The problem now was proving they were not following in the footsteps of their father.

You would give up eighty-five thousand pounds? she asked quietly, instead of mentioning all the thoughts that swam in her mind.

It wasn’t even just about the princes anymore, but what about the world? If they gave up now, Ballora would just find someone else to do what she started.

And then there was the deal. Just the thought of abandoning it made Enya’s palms painfully burn, and she sucked in a breath, clutching them together. She had no choice; she’d agreed to the Crimson Witch’s terms, and now she had to see things through.

Money? Carson scoffed after several moments of overwhelming silence, turning his back on her. You think all this is really worth that much?

She shot back, Have you forgotten what that kind of money is worth? How far that buying power would go? She sneered, Or the worth of an alliance with the heir to the throne? With his brothers? They could be the key to taking that sorry pisspot of a king down!

He ran a frustrated hand down his face and sat back down on his bed. So, you’re seeing this through?

She tore off one of her gloves and threw it at the bars, baring her palm and the crescent mark on her skin, which was now bright red. "What choice do I have? I made a deal, Carson. I’m stuck. How could he not understand that? Besides, if she had access to Queen Ciara, what makes you think King Eamon won’t be next? How do you think Skeyya will fare then?"

He took a deep, hard breath, letting it out slowly. For several moments, he said nothing. Then, Fine. Do you at least have a lead on the sword? Or a way to get out of here?

She sighed. Just the same lead as before. But I’ve been trying to dig up information on how many objects are left and where they’re hidden. Why they’re linked to her at all.

And? Carson pressed, giving her an exasperated look.

And I’m not sure. I keep seeing stuff come up about a war in the fae realm. The one Finn and Miriana mentioned back at the pub when this all started. These objects have something to do with it ending, but I can’t seem to find much more. She scratched the back of her neck. I know they’re the key to taking her down. I know they’re the key to her powers coming back. I just don’t know how.

And escape? He glowered. "You get the privilege of going outside this lake. Me and that snobby prince don’t. We’re stuck down here, wasting away."

It wasn’t like she didn’t feel guilty about that. Carson and Rowan were allowed to roam the Black Lake’s ruins now and then, but they were otherwise trapped—cut off from the human world and everyone in it. And now the prince was in chains …

But then anger took over, stirring hot inside Enya. We’re being watched like hawks. I have no idea how we’ll escape. Do you really think I like this situation? She lowered her gaze back to the ground. If we stand any chance at getting out of here, we need to trust each other, Carson. She looked back up, meeting his steely eyes with her own. "And the prince who’s about to face an untimely death if we don’t do something about it. Name one time he or his brothers have backstabbed us."

Before Carson could reply, footsteps began echoing down the hall until they stopped outside his cell. Anders was here, holding two plates full of disgusting slop. The faint gas lamps and darkness shrouding the room turned his honey hair a more amber color in the faint lighting, and his favorite fur hat for the human world was absent.

Finally, a familiar face. Enya allowed herself a small grin. His and Rowan’s constant bickering made for good entertainment down here.

"Bon appetit." He flashed her an apologetic smile, slipping Carson a metal tray under the door to his cell before doing the same with hers.

Dinner for humans, of which there was only Enya and her companions, was putrid, but that was to be expected. Burnt chicken flesh and stale gravy. If there had been anything more edible to eat, she would have refused the slop. But Enya had already lost so much weight.

It’s better than nothing. She got up to pick up her plate, then sat back on her bed. Enya shoveled a spoonful of the slop into her mouth and gagged, forcing herself to chew a few times before gulping it down. It tasted much worse than it looked. Cringing, she set the tray down on the soiled floor. Carson poked his food with a fork, saying nothing, his jaw set so hard she wondered if he would break it.

Anders smirked, digging into his jacket to produce a few slivers of salted and dried pork. He slipped it through their cells, tossing it over to both Enya and Carson. She greedily ate hers up, savoring the chewy, smoky texture.

Carson finally grumbled, Thanks. You didn’t have to do that. We appreciate it. He took a bite and smiled, already perking up, albeit a little.

You’re absolutely right. But I hate seeing my favorite humans so … weak. It’s the little things that count, right? Anders propped himself up against the cell opposite Enya’s, crossing his arms over his chest. So, he began casually, looking between her and Carson, I noticed your heir to the throne is next on the chopping block.

Her already unpleasant mood only turned that much more sour. We’re trying to figure out how to remedy that.

He tapped his foot, tilting his head one way and then the other as he pondered her words. Well, as much as I’d hate for the Crimson Witch to have free reign over the world and all that, you may not have any other way to save him than to come up with a new lead. Unless you can escape.

Enya retorted, We were just talking about that. But the opportunity has yet to present itself. I’m the only one allowed into the human world, and even then, I’m usually guarded by Fionn.

Hm, Anders hummed, considering this. He pushed himself off the bars behind him to stand straighter. "What a predicament. Well, you have a week to come up with something. You’re lucky she let you three live this long, considering how un-useful you’ve been."

I wouldn’t exactly call this living, Enya muttered, finishing off the last bite of the jerky.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. When you have a plan, let me know. I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’ll save that favorite prince of yours. Anders winked before walking off down the hall to the exit, and she flushed.

Sparing Carson a look once their undead ally was gone, she saw his face had turned hard once more. In a flash, he was back to his recently broody, angry self. He turned away from her, yanking his fur over himself as he laid down to sleep.

At times like these, feeling so alone and on guard, she wondered about Beacon and Niall. They surely hated her. The looks on their faces on that fateful day … Enya took a calming breath, her hands already shaking again. Hopefully, they found safety. Above anything else, she wished that to be true. None of the princes deserved to be in this situation. Nor any of her Grims.

To stay moving no matter the cost. She rolled her eyes.

They weren’t moving right now. They were stuck. Soon, though, they wouldn’t be. The Raven would do her best to get them the hell out of here and back to Arden and her gang. If she had the Grims and the rebels to help, she… she could do it. She could free them all and keep them free. At least she would keep telling herself that. She had to.

The metal under her back was freezing when she laid back, despite the sheet over it, and she tossed and turned, trying to find a position that hurt the least.

More often than not, she craved her bed back at the Bowman’s Pub. To be surrounded by her crew, her family. Her home. The thought of that family, however far away, brought a soft smile to her lips. Memories lulled her to sleep, to a world far away from this dreaded place.

Whitstone Palace’s halls were empty when Enya stepped through them barefoot. Cool, white marble met her feet, and a white cotton nightgown was draped over her small frame.

The smell of lavender and pink berry flowers drifted in from the nearby windows leading to the palace gardens. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen this morning. The only sound was her footsteps echoing off the palace walls. Dawn breathed its blue and violet hues into the corridor she stood in, and she could faintly remember needing to go in this direction for something important.

Enya furrowed her brows, continuing past the kitchens. A funny noise caught in her throat when she did, but she couldn’t figure out why. Also, she couldn’t figure out how she’d returned to Renmare.

Shadows danced along the walls as she moved one foot in front of the other, almost out of her own control. Faintly, Enya could remember someone else having been with her once upon a time, moving through these same halls. It had been another time, another story, but she couldn’t recall if it had a happy ending.

Eventually and uneventfully, she arrived in front of a pristine ivory door, one made of wood and surrounded in an arch