Reeve swallowed. No, no, of course not—he hadn’t thought that far ahead at all. He wanted to listen to her because he’d liked the way her voice sounded, and he’d liked the way her lips moved, and he’d liked staring down at her laid out on the linens with all that black hair cascading around her lovely face. And above all of that, she just didn’tfeelevil. Reeve scrunched up his nose. “Yes?”
Sid made a noise that said he didn’t entirely believe him, and since the sword was arcanely imbued with the ability to read its wielder’s desires, it shouldn’t have believed him at all.
“Okay, you’re right,” he admitted, the heft of the lie—any lie—too much. “I just didn’t want to hurt her.”
“She would have killed you,” Sid huffed, and Reeve muttered that he understood into his hands. “I just don’t want to seeyouget hurt, buddy.”
Well, it was a little late for that. He’d been thrown into multiple pieces of furniture, nearly eviscerated by noxscura, and now his divine arcana was being strangled by the barrier all around him.
And she had done all of that. Maybe it didn’t matter how things felt, it only mattered how things were.
“Fine, I guess I’ll kill her first,” he moaned, thinking of the prophecy and Valcord. That was clearly the answer—a little prayer almost always solved everything—but he was too embarrassed by his predicament to let Valcord know exactly what had become of him, a holy knight, imprisoned by a witch,in his own temple. Valcord probably already knew, he was a god after all, but Reeve liked to pretend that he was polite enough not to peek in unless he was called.
“Knock knock.”
Reeve sat up straight, the twinge in his back crying out, but he ignored it. There she stood, his most contemptible enemy, the bane of his existence, the epitome of evil, and she was carrying…cakes?
The smell that filled the chamber was divine, and if there was one thing Reeve thought he understood, it was divinity. Steam rose from the plate of baked goods balanced atop her hand as she entered the bed chamber. In the other, she held out a saucer, a teacup rattling against it, and more steam swirled over the liquid inside. Strapped over her shoulder was a hefty pack, and her slow movement and tensely held features made him fear both scalding handfuls were one wrong move from being splattered across the floor.
On her shoulder rode that little wyvern, the one who had stared at him from the safety of the hall for half the day. Its tail wrapped around her neck, and its clawed feet dug into her soft-looking skin. A familiar, surely, but such a brazen choice—at least a cat could be explained away.
The witch tried to mask her true self otherwise, wearing that frilly, blue dress again, the one she’d been wearing the first night he’d come into Briarwyke and laid eyes on her. If only he had sensed it then, if only the rest of the villagers knew what evil walked amongst them, if only he had thought to strike out…he probably still wouldn’t have.
The witch carefully lowered herself to her knees and then set the plate and saucer at the edge of the barrier, managing to only spill a few drops of tea. Her eyes, massive and grey, flicked to him, and then her hand moved quickly over the noxscura, and she pushed the plate and cup through to the other side. “For you,” she said in that quiet voice he liked, the one she probably used for exactly the purpose of knocking holy men off their guard.
“I do not want your poison-riddled illusions,” he said, colder than even he expected of himself. And then his stomach betrayed him with a growl.
She tipped her head and opened the satchel strapped over her chest, pulling out a wedge of cheese. “Well, I didn’t make this, so maybe you’ll want it instead.” She pushed it through the barrier too, then went back to her bag. The array of things that followed made the pack seem bottomless: a loaf of bread, salted meat, a bottle filled with something dark, another filled with something white, and a stack of books. She lined it all up and pushed it through, the satchel finally empty.
“Is that…milk?”
She nodded. “There’s wine too from the sepulcher, and the tea which I can make more of, but milk makes baby cows into big cows, and you’re big, so I just figured…” The woman sat back onto her feet, eyes going wide and cheeks going pink as she stared at the floor. “That didn’t come out how I meant it, and that’s goat’s milk anyway.”
Reeve looked down at himself. Well, she was right, relatively, but how in the realm did she know he preferred milk to everything else? He clicked his tongue at her mysterious witchery. “Why are you keeping me imprisoned here?”
“So you don’t kill me. But if you’ve changed your mind about that, I’d be happy to let you out.”
Reeve grunted and shook his head, eyes wandering over to the tray of cakes again. They were stacked artfully, golden on top and looking soft and fluffy, honey dripping down their edges.
“They’re good,” she said, an awkward grin playing at her lips. “I ate one and so did Plum, and we’re both still alive.”
Reeve only crossed his arms over his chest.
She sighed and shifted onto her hip. They both sat on the floor of the chamber on opposing sides of the barrier she’d made, the air thick with floundering silence and the increasingly enticing smell of cake and tea. Maybe just one would be fine—Reeve had a very strong constitution and could probably survive alittlepoisoning.
“Oh, I saw your horse! They’re taking care of him at the inn.”
“If you disturb one hair of Earlylyte’s coat…”
She shook her head and lifted her hands, those same hands that had cast against him. “No, no, I just saw him, didn’t touch him. If you want, I can try to coax him to come here, or maybe I could ask Kori to do that. Well, not all the way up here—I don’t think horses are good with stairs—but to the courtyard, and, well, I guess you wouldn’t be able to see him because of the windows.” She glanced around the room and frowned at its dismal light. “Maybe I should have brought you some candles and a firestarter. You wouldn’t purposefully burn down a temple to your god, would you?”
“Leave my horse where he is,” said Reeve, drawing his legs in to cross before him, studying her harder. She was doing quite a good job of playacting innocence, but he would not be tricked.
When her eyes fell back to his, she swallowed so hard he saw the lump travel down her throat—her delicate, fair throat, the one Sid had suggested strangling. Reeve grimaced at the idea, and the witch looked quickly away, fingers curling around the hem of her dress. “So, what’s your name?” she asked.
It wasn’t safe to give one’s name to every entity, especially beautiful ones, but since he was already captured, he did it anyway. “Reeve.”
“Reeve…” She waited for the rest.
