Page 16 of Magick and Lead (Dragons and Aces #2)

In truth, there were half a dozen places she could think of where Essa might have hunkered down following the fall of her capital and the death of her mother—for, according to the conversations she’d overheard, that was the sad fate that had befallen Maethalia since she’d been captured.

But Rohree wasn’t going to tell this woman anything.

She would sooner die than betray Essa to the likes of her.

The witch nodded knowingly. “See? Your spirit does yearn to be broken. To be negated. To become one with the Void. It feels so good, Rohree, to open up and let the darkness inside of you. It’s all around us. And it SO wants to be let in.”

She smiled suddenly, a flash of too-white teeth, like the grin of a jackal.

“Have you eaten?”

Rohree hadn’t eaten—not in days—which probably accounted for the trembly, floaty feeling of her limbs and the knot of emptiness and pain in her belly.

“Come, come,” Lady Amberleigh said. “Let’s get you fed.”

She took Rohree by the hand and led her into the next room.

It was a kitchen, and a pot of fragrant soup sat boiling in a black pot over the fire.

Lady Amberleigh steered Rohree into a seat, went to the fire and ladled some soup into a wooden bowl, then brought it over and set it before Rohree.

The sprite’s stomach lurched with hunger so strongly it almost doubled her over. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

With shaking hands, she brought the bowl to her lips and sipped. It tasted so amazing, a groan of pleasure slipped out. She sipped again.

At that moment, there came a knock at the door. A Gray Brother entered, holding a rolled-up scroll.

“A message, m’lady.”

She took it, then shooed the man away. A glance at the scroll’s wax seal made her squeal with excitement.

“Ah, it’s from the prelate!” she said. Crossing to a desk on the far side of the room, she placed it into a basket with a dozen other, similar-looking scrolls.

Rohree noted it well. There was probably a wealth of information in that basket about the Gray Brothers and their nefarious plans, information that would be valuable to Essa—if only she could find some way to get her hands on those scrolls and escape…

The witch turned back to Rohree. “I’ll read that later. First, I have something to show you.”

A white cloth lay in the center of the table, draped over something—Rohree had assumed it was rising bread dough. The witch pulled the cloth away now, revealing a dead cat.

Reflexively, Rohree recoiled. Her stomach, which had been so eager to receive food a moment before, spasmed with disgust.

The poor kitty was stiff and smelled faintly of death. Its eyes, Rohree saw, were missing, carved out and left as a pair of empty, blood-crusted sockets. With a grunt of disgust, Rohree shoved her bowl of soup away. Starving as she was, she couldn’t eat with that thing in front of her.

Judging from her giggle, that was exactly what the witch had intended.

“A dog got her, poor thing,” she tutted. “But don’t worry. The kitty won’t be dead for long.”

She pointed to the cat’s side, where its tufted fur was smoothed by a patch of clay.

“She’ll be good as new. Better than new, actually. Here, watch.”

The witch went and knelt before the fireplace, muttering some incantation as she went. As she did, she took an iron out of the rack and placed one end of it in the fire.

Rohree’s eyes ticked to the fire poker in the rack.

She imagined herself darting to it, pulling the iron free, and bludgeoning this horrible woman with it.

If only her cramped legs were capable of speed.

She could use her sprite ability to turn invisible and try to sneak out.

But Lady Amberleigh had the perception of a witch.

Peri tricks wouldn’t work on her. And weak as Rohree was, attacking this vile woman with the poker would likely fail—and land Rohree in the box again. Maybe forever this time.

So, she merely watched as the woman stood, holding a small, glowing coal in each hand.

Though they smoked, they didn’t seem to harm her bare skin as she walked over and pressed the coals into the eye sockets of the dead cat.

The pitch and cadence of her chanting rose, and Rohree felt her hackles rise as the air seemed to shift, growing colder.

Out the window, the light dimmed, as if a band of thick clouds had drawn across the sun.

And from the stone floor, writhing tendrils of shadow began to rise.

They found the cat and began slipping into its every orifice with a sound like the sizzling of bacon, disappearing inside the poor creature’s body.

The witch’s chanting abruptly ceased, and for an instant, all went terribly silent. Then, the cat’s tail twitched. It stretched, its body making unnatural snapping noises, and it got to its feet.

The witch’s eyes burned with mad delight.

“Come to Mommy,” she said, and the cat leaped onto her shoulders and sat.

Amberleigh looked to Rohree, pleased.

“I saw this cat when I first came to stay in this tower. She was feral. Wouldn’t come anywhere near me, even when I offered her tender roast game-hen to eat. But see how obedient she is now?”

She giggled sweetly. “That’s what I wanted to show you. That even in death, you can be useful to us. That you can be made obedient. It’s simpler to remake you than to make that soup.”

She glanced at the soup bowl, then at Rohree again.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry?”

Rohree only bared her teeth, too sickened and scared to speak.

Things would not turn out well here, no matter what she said or did.

There would be no pleasing this sadistic woman.

If she were braver, like Essa or Lure or Clua or even Ollie, she would have thrown her soup in the woman’s face and tried to run.

But Rohree was no hero. She was a survivor.

Amberleigh tsked and shook her head. “I would love to make you as obedient as this kitty. Unfortunately, the prelate prefers you remain as you are. He seems to think the princess might feel cross with us if you were harmed too much . And though we could remake you like this kitty and try to pass you off as your old self—there are ways to conceal the red eyes—the prelate thinks you’ve spent so much time with the princess that she’d notice the change in you.

So that puts us in a bit of a tough spot, you see.

You’re not very useful. And you cause trouble.

My preference would be to peel off your flesh and ask your bones for information—sprite bones are good for divination—did you know?

But the prelate still thinks you can be of use to us alive.

So, I’ll ask you again… Where is the princess? ”

Rohree stared at the woman, trying to keep the hatred she felt off her face.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Honestly, if I had any idea, I would tell you.”

“Oh, little sprite.” The witch sighed. “You lie to hide your rebellious heart. But alas, I have already seen the future in my scrying. I saw you try to escape.”

“No. I… I won’t try to escape again…” she stammered.

The witch’s grin was unnervingly broad. “I know. It seems unfair to be punished for something that happens in the future. I’m told witches are hard to deal with for that very reason. It’s probably why I don’t have a man in my life. Still, that’s the way it is.”

She gave a shrill whistle. The door opened, and the trio of Gray Brothers tromped in.

Rohree sprang to her feet. “No. Please. Really, I won’t try to run!”

“You will,” the witch said with a smile. “But don’t worry. The Lords of the Void are on my side. We have ways of turning every setback to our advantage. Remember that.”

The Brothers had her ringed in. They approached her slowly, as if hemming in a dangerous animal.

“Please. Not the box. I’ll do anything!” Rohree said, panicking as the robed thugs grabbed one of her arms.

“You’ll find out, there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” the Lady said, taking the cat from her shoulders and setting it on the table.

Reaching out with one hand, she made a gesture in the air.

A hissing sound came from the cat’s body, and the black tendrils of void began sliding out of the beast again.

The cat gave a loud, terribly plaintive mew, then the light in its burning-coal eyes went dark.

It collapsed to the table like a boneless sack, its head punctuating the disgusting display by thumping on the wood of the table.

Rohree retched. She’d surely have vomited if there had been anything in her stomach. Lady Amberleigh went to the fire, stooped, and came up again holding a red-hot branding iron.

“Hold her,” she commanded, and the two brothers grabbed Rohree’s arms tighter.

She fought wildly, but her strength was so depleted that she was no match for the men.

She shut her eyes, flailing with all her might, but it was no use.

She heard the witch chanting in some unknown language and felt the sizzle of the iron as the brand touched the flesh of her leg.

For a moment, miraculously, there was hardly any pain—just a mild stinging sensation and the stink of her own burning skin.

The throbbing agony hit seconds later, rolling over her like a crashing wave, and she screamed, balling up on herself, trembling hands grasping at her branded calf without actually touching it.

“There,” the witch said. “Now you’ll always be mine, little sprite. Wherever you roam…”

Rohree was moving, then. She was barely aware of being carried along a path. Down a set of stairs. Through a tunnel.

Then, the Brothers dropped her with a bone-rattling impact.

She didn’t process what was happening until she reached out a hand and felt a familiar surface. Wood, scored with many marks from her own desperately raking fingernails.

“No. No! NO!” she wailed, but the lid thudded shut above her, muting her screams.

She was in the box again.