“What do you mean?” I asked. From what I knew, witches were known to be a passive people.
Giselle chuckled mirthlessly when I told her so. “It’s true. I don’t think we could’ve lived underground with each other for so many years if we weren’t. But there are bad apples in every batch, if you know what I mean.”
“Are there wicked witches? Like in the storybooks?” I asked, recalling the tales I heard from other children. Father read me no such things as a child. Mother never read to me at all.
Being the only magic-wielder I knew, I never considered myself wicked. That was no longer the case in later years.
“Some certainly have the potential to be. Perhaps that’s just as bad.” Her face darkened as if recalling some unpleasant memory.
I decided to pry. After all, there was a long journey ahead of us. “Did you know someone like that?”
“Once,” she said, bending over her embroidery. “Nasty child, that one. Used to play pranks on us witch children all the time by taking away our magic. She would only return it when my sisters and I chased her down.”
I blinked rapidly. “Take away your magic? How?”
Giselle shrugged. “She was a charmwitch who specialized in gathering substances. For example, she could take trace particles of gold from the ground and compile them into solid bars. Impressive, if she bothered to use it for good.”
“I didn’t know magic is a substance.”
Giselle unraveled a length of gold embroidery floss. “Charmwitches consider everything substances. They can be taken, manipulated, and returned—but never created or destroyed. This includes the intangible, like music or pain. Even hatred is a substance.”
I played absentmindedly with Pippin’s gingery fur, wondering what hatred looked like.
“Well, the point is she was a menace. Her mother was an herbwitch who sold potions that removed witch magic for good. Nasty business, but there was a demand,” Giselle said with a sigh. “I’m guessing she learned a few tricks from her. It was a shock to wake up without your magic. I wouldn’t recommend the feeling. Anyhow, the older folks always made her return it and apologize. But between you and me, I bet she didn’t care a whit.”
“What happened to her?” I asked. “And her mother?”
“Eventually, having them around just got to be too much. They were driven out by the rest of us. The two packed up and left the kingdom. Didn’t know how they managed, but I’m glad I never have to see her face again,” she said, tying off a thread. “By the way, when’s lunch?”
A couple hours passed with mindless chatter, mostly from Giselle. Despite the distraction, she managed to finish a row of elaborate embroidery along a hem that was at least two yards long. At noon, we stopped at a forest clearing to refresh the horses and stretch our legs.
Misty awoke from her nap when Giselle took her leave.Oh. He’s still here, she said, green eyes narrowing when she saw Pippin on my lap.
Pippin rolled onto his back.Of course. Wherever you are, I’ll be there, he said. He gave Misty a look I figured was supposed to be flirtatious.
How annoying, Misty hissed. She leaped onto the forest floor.I’m going for a walk. Don’t you dare follow me.
Pippin rolled over again, fully intending on following her, but I held him still.Come on, Narcissa. How am I supposed to ignore that blatant invitation?he said, nudging my hand.
His round cheeks and pink nose made him ridiculously adorable, but I couldn’t have Misty mad at me.
“Give her some space, Pippin. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder,” I said, smiling. “Come with me. I’ll find you something to eat.”
This seemed to perk him up as he eagerly scrambled into my arms. Lord Frederick helped me down the carriage, his whiskered cheeks flushed from the cold.
“The men are preparing lunch, Lady Narcissa. You may stretch your legs along the river in the meantime, if you wish.” Lord Frederick handed me a plain wool cloak. “Here. For warmth.”
I thanked him. We were in a sparse forest of pine trees, surrounded by frosty greens and dreary skies. A gentle slope led down to a narrow stream, where a few guards were watering their horses. The rest were setting out stools and building a small fire.
Pippin was disgruntled that food would have to wait, but was nevertheless content to remain in my arms. I made a few rounds around the clearing before venturing downhill. The river ran clear and free, rippling over the smooth stones at its perimeter.
Pippin meowed in delight.Looks refreshing! Let’s swim.
“You’re a strange one,” I said. Most cats would’ve taken one look at the water and bolted. I knelt and dipped a hand in, wincing at the icy bite. “Perhaps another time.”
Pippin nosed the stones.But–
I scooped him up and flicked a playful finger over his cheek. “Silly goose. It’s too cold for–”
