I drew in a deep breath. I had only been to the realm of the ogres once before and it was a memory I would not easily forget. I’d gone with Isolde, to accompany her on a negotiation. The black witches would supply ogres with humans in exchange for their own kind’s blood, which was the ingredient of many rituals we carried out, along with some other favors.

Although I’d known about this trade between the ogres and the witches for a long time, I had never been directly part of it since that meeting and I hadn’t known exactly where the gate to the ogres’ realm was located on earth. It was such luck that Caleb had led us all right to their primary point of trade.

I realized with a shudder that it was likely some black witches had also been present that night we heard the screams, to carry out the exchange through the gate.

Brushing the sand off my body, I tried to get my thoughts in order. I knew the king and queen of this island would recognize me from all those years ago. And if I played my cards right, they would have no reason to suspect I was without magic now. Ogres both feared and revered black witches. I would have to play on this knowledge if I was to get what I wanted. I knew how dangerous it was to invoke the order of the black witches fraudulently. But right now, the vision of Rose and Caleb embracing across the lake still fresh in my mind, I was willing to risk the consequences. I was in trouble with the black witches anyway if they found out about my helping Rose and Caleb escape Julisse and Arielle. One more notch on my reputation wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference to the punishment I would undergo should they ever catch me.

I snapped myself back to reality. I was standing here topless, with nothing but a breaking wreath of leaves around my waist. I had to somehow make myself presentable before entering the ogres’ kingdom…

I scanned the shoreline once more and noticed a cluster of small boats in the distance. I ran up to them as fast as I could and peered into the first one. It was empty. As were the second and third boats. When I climbed aboard the fourth boat—about twice the size of the previous three—I finally found something I could work with. A large black cloak—belonging to an ogre no doubt—rested over the back of a chair. It was so heavy my arm muscles felt strained just picking it up and so long it dragged along the floor behind me.

I walked to the cabin at the front of the ship, rummaging around in a large chest a few feet away from the giant wheel. I found an array of weapons—daggers, swords, axes… I picked up the sharpest dagger I could find. Laying the cloak down on the ground, I used the knife to shorten it to my height.

I pulled it over me. Although it looked baggy around my chest, this would have to do for now. I tried to tidy up the hems so that it looked less obvious that I’d just cut it with a crude knife. But then I had no more time to spend on this.

I threw the excess cloth over the edge of the boat into the sea, replaced the dagger in the chest and then left the vessel. I raced back toward the wall, my eyes fixed on the nightmarish iron gates.

The gates of hell, they were often called. For, as the saying went: He who ventures in doesn’t venture out.

My breathing quickened as I reached the gates. What I was about to do would be suicidal if any of the ogres found out, or somehow knew already, that I was a rogue witch. Their belief that I was still with the black witches would be the only thing keeping them from frying my insides for dinner.

I tried to tame my long hair a bit, brushing through it with my hands and winding it into a tight bun at the top of my head. Then I ducked down and, picking up a rock, slammed it against the iron three times. The eerie sound of the echoing metal sent shivers running down my spine.

My mouth dried out as I waited, my stomach churning.

I prayed that the royals would remember me from my visit before. I hoped I didn’t look too different now that I was a human.

My heart leapt into my throat as the clank of a bolt being drawn broke through the silence. The gates creaked open slowly until I stood face to face with a bulging ogre who looked almost five times my size. His bright yellow eyes glinted as he stared at me, frowning.

I spoke before he could come to too many assumptions of his own about my presence.

“My name is Annora. I am on commission here from Rhys and Isolde. In service of the order of our Ancients, I am here to see His and Her Highnesses.”

His eyes widened the moment I mentioned Rhys and Isolde. He grunted, beckoning me forward. While ogres generally despised the witches of The Sanctuary, mention of the order of the black witches was enough to invoke reverence and fear in this guard.

I entered through the gates, burying my hands within the robe to hide the way they were shaking.

“Their Highnesses usually rest at this time, after lunch. But I will see if Anselm is awake,” the ogre boomed into my ear.

Anselm. I racked my brain to remember who he was. Of course, I couldn’t ask. I needed to appear as knowledgeable about these ogres as possible. So I nodded, despite the fact that I had no idea what I was about to walk into.

“May I carry you, witch? It will be faster.”

Eyeing the grotesque ogre, I nodded. “You may.”

“Or, of course, you could simply magic us inside, if you are familiar with the castle.”

“I am not so familiar with the exact location,” I said. “It’s better if you carry me.”

“As you wish,” he mumbled.

He reached down his hand and laid it flat on the floor like a step. I stepped onto it, and he lifted me up to lean against his shoulder as he began thundering forward. My heart pounded in my chest as he sped up to an even faster pace. I hoped he wouldn’t wonder why I was barefoot. I would try to hide my feet with the hem of my cloak when I was presented before this Anselm, whoever he was.