A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Seventy-Eight

I dreamt I was cradled in Zahra's arms. And I felt so incredibly safe. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing would.

I've got you, amira. 

The healers kept me in the private physicians' quarters to monitor the head wound I'd sustained during Ode's visions at the temple.

Still trapped halfway between a dream, I felt familiar hands running along my forehead, checking for my temperature.

I've got you, amira.

My eyelids flutter open as someone whispers, voice groggy from lack of sleep. From intensive worry. "May I kiss you?"

I nod.

When I open my eyes fully, I see piercing eyes.

And a scarred handprint.

Harto?

I pull away from the kiss, his smirk. His eyes lit up in happiness. I see my reflection in them. Confusion. Loss.

"I thought you were—."

The door slams open as Zahra moves quickly out of the room, leaving me with beaming healers and servants, and one incredibly satisfied Sultan Raharjo.

"Thought I was who, putri?"

I turn guiltily away from the door, remembering other things. More important things than my own, selfishly beating heart.

Like Ingatan, trapped behind a bloody mask.

"Nothing." I reply, slinging my arms around him. "Harto, how did you—?"

"I'm sorry. I know you were asking for your father's blessing. I just didn't want to be alone." Harto swallows, tugging his curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. "Not now."

"Why?" I pull over to one side of the infirmary bed, incredibly grateful that our healing Diviners are so skilled. My head wound's been reduced to a mere shadow of a scar. "Why couldn't you be alone now?"

He looks back to me, tears flowing down his face. "The anniversary of my parents' death." He whispers. "When the witch doctor killed them, sacrificing them to Rangda." He unleashes a horrendous sob, his lanky frame bent over near in two.

"Leave us please." The rest of the healers file out at my word, eyes respectfully downcast. I take Harto in my arms, shaking like a little boy. "Harto, I'm sorry."

"Did you find his name?" He wipes away the tears, the sorrow turned hard and red, like anger. "Did you find the bastard's name? I'll... I'll break what's left of his fingers. I'll wring his neck. I'll make him pay."

I stare into those eyes, filled with horrific fury.

"We have a wedding to worry about." I reply.

That's not technically a lie.

But could I be... am I protecting Ingatan from execution?

I lift my head as I realize why.

Because nobody else is going to make decisions for me. No challengers. No gods. No kings or emperors or sultans. Only I have the power to choose.

I'm my own god.

***

Readers,

Betrayal. Loss. Free will.

-Sophia