‘I am only keeping to the terms of our agreement.’ The Witch turned a page in the little clothbound novel that had arrived in the post. The title was something in English I couldn’t quite understand – I could see that it translated to something like ‘moonstone’ but I wasn’t sure what it could be about. ‘As I hope you are keeping to yours.’
I thought of the footsteps and the hidden room, the unsent letter, and said, ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then my evenings are yours.’
I was on the rug before the fire and she sat in a chair with her bare feet tucked beneath her, so that I had to tilt my head to speak to her. Her eyes were shut and I allowed myself a moment to take her in. The smooth, icy plane of her pale cheek, the dark flush of lashes against her skin, the full lower lip as red as blood and hair a glossy, coal-like black hanging heavy over her shoulders in tangled waves. I remembered seeing her for the first time, and being so shocked to see someone so unearthly beautiful when we feared her so. Now all I saw was someone so acutely human. In the chapped skin of her lips, the lines beside her eyes, the bitten quicks of her nails and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.
She had gone fromWitchtomyWitch, and I didn’t quite know when.
A soft knock announced Wolf at the door. She held a letter in her hands, small and battered. The Witch held out her hand for it but Wolf shook her head and looked to me instead.
I took it, slow with surprise. I had not expected any letters to reach me, and thought of what Edgar had said in his. Correspondence reached the castle irregularly. I broke the seal with trembling fingers. I knew the paper – it was from the palace in Blumwald.
From Klara. It was dated a week previous and lasted only a few lines.
‘My father has had an accident.’ Panic and dread flushed hot and cold through me. ‘He fell from his horse. They don’t know if he...’ The letter dropped into my lap.
The Witch sat ramrod straight, uncertain. I looked at her, words unformed on my lips, the silent question strung between us.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No. You cannot leave.’
‘My father—’
‘I heard what you said.’
I felt then my heart break. ‘Why?’
A storm crossed her face. ‘Because you bound yourself and I will not allow you to break that vow.’
I folded the letter into a bullet of paper and ink, turned the nub between my fingers. I remembered the Witch that day in her study when she had received her letter limned in black. How she had cried. I wondered again what she had lost by being here; perhaps my father wasn’t so big a sacrifice in comparison.
Whatever tenderness had been between us before had turned brittle like frost. I didn’t mean to cry, but I did. As soon as I felt the wetness against my skin I made quick work to excuse myself.
I had thought my life so terrible I had put myself into the Witch’s hand, severing myself from my family forever and until now I hadn’t let myself think about what that meant. The love between my father and I had been stretched so thin, but it was still there, a filigree strand as fine and ephemeral as a spiderweb. If he was alive, even if I never saw him again, that thread remained intact.
I carried the fear of it snapping like a wound in my heart.
X
Wolf and the Witch were together at the kitchen table the next morning.
I had wondered where the Witch went after our breakfasts together, but had not expected to find her somewhere so domestic. I had borrowed a thimble and thread from Wolf to mend my stockings the day before and had come to return it. My mind was foggy with worry for my father and I had darned the stocking to my skirt and my sleeve and my own finger before I gave up on the task.
Outside the kitchen I stopped short when I saw the two women. It was a conversation I knew wasn’t for my ears; yet I lingered. Their voices rolled and danced together in the easy rhythm of long acquaintance, a familiarity I was not yet a part of. I stepped sideways into a shadow and listened.
Wolf stood, lifted the tea kettle from the fire and poured it over a pot of nettles. ‘That is out of the question and has never been done before.’
‘I was not asking your permission,’ said the Witch.
‘You will not gain my forgiveness either.’
The Witch held out her cup and Wolf filled it. ‘It might surprise you that I seek neither.’
‘Then why tell me if your mind is made up?’
