The Hawkweed Prophecy Read Online Free PDF Page B

zealously promoted, Charlock shied away from. She was happy for Raven and Sorrel to be the chosen ones. And Ember was just as relieved not to be a contender. Either she or Sorrel would be the next queen, or so the prophecy said, and everyone knew it would never be Ember.
    As Ember wandered back into camp, she saw her cousin, Sorrel, with some other young witches and quickly ducked behind a washing line to avoid them.
    â€œToo late, Em!” shouted Sorrel.
    Ember felt a familiar stomach churning.
    â€œWe can see your legs,” declared another.
    â€œHeard about you and Sister Ada, Em. You can’t hide forever.” That was Sorrel’s voice again.
    Ember considered making a run for it, but Charlock had made her promise to stand up for herself. So Ember stepped out from behind the washing and stood. The girls advanced.
    â€œDoesn’t she smell sweet?” Kyra, Sorrel’s chief cohort, taunted.
    Sorrel bent her head and sniffed. Her nose twitched and then she sneezed. The girls burst out laughing, and Ember couldn’t help joining them. As a reprisal, Sorrel gave a lock of Ember’s hair a sudden tug.
    â€œOuch. That hurt!” cried Ember.
    â€œOh, poor little Em. Shall I make it better?” Sorrel said, imitating Ember’s higher-pitched voice.
    â€œNo,” Ember pleaded, trying to lower her tone. “Please, Sorrel . . . ”
    Ember tried to stop herself from shaking, but the panic was setting in. Usually Sorrel’s offers of help ended in further injury for Ember. She had the scars, pockmarks, and burns to prove it. Sorrel’s whole face narrowed to a point as she concentrated on her spell. Ember shut her eyes and shielded her face with her arms. She didn’t know why she still had the instinct to do this, as her arms offered no protection. It wasn’t a physical blow that Sorrel was conjuring up but something more virulent. Still, Ember braced herself for whatever was coming her way.
    â€œSorrel Hawkweed. No mischief make for mischief’s sake.” It was Charlock’s voice, loud and clear with authority.
    Ember’s eyelids flicked open to see Sorrel’s face contort with irritation before putting on a fake smile and turning toward Charlock.
    â€œOf course, Aunt. Never our power abuse, never the craft misuse.”
    Ember glanced at her mother and saw that her head was cocked to one side and her eyebrows raised. She wasn’t fooled. But when Charlock turned to look at Ember, her eyes were guarded. “Come along now, Ember,” she chided. “Stop dawdling. There’s work to be done.”
    Ember scuttled past the girls, hurrying to her mother’s side. Her skirts swept Sorrel’s as she passed, and she heard her cousin murmur, “You’re an embarrassment,” and Ember glanced at her almost apologetically.
    Ember always forgave her cousin’s bullying, for she knew how hard it was on Sorrel having a relative like her. When they were little, Sorrel had treated her like a pet, and Ember would follow her cousin around, looking up at her adoringly. But then it haddawned on Sorrel how inept Ember was, and she had tried to distance herself from Ember’s failures. Now, to save face, she would tease Ember and hurt her before anyone else could, and in that respect, Sorrel was doing her a favor. Ember could take Sorrel’s punishments, curbed as they were by family connection, over what the others might inflict instead.
    It was hard on her mother too. Charlock never told her so, but Ember could feel it. The only member of Ember’s family who didn’t make her feel like a burden was Raven. She seemed to accept Ember for who she was—she had neither expectation, nor disappointment. Her mother had plenty of both; she just kept them stored inside.
    As they walked back to the caravan, Charlock stayed silent. Ember could tell she was too enraged to talk and knew her anger wasn’t just directed at Sorrel and