“That is not what I said. In your marrow, before all the rest, you are like me. You are a witch. And we are the darkest parts of the forest and the woodsmoke on the wind when October comes roaring in. We belong to no one. We don’t even belong to ourselves, not all of the time, and certainly not the way everyone thinks we do. We belong to the older curves, the deeper shadows, the quiet things that no man dares to know. But the King?”
