Page 195 of The Black Witch

Tears sting at my eyes, and I struggle to hold them back. “And I’m sorry about your father.” The words are stilted as I try to bring my emotions under control. “What happened to him?” I ask.

Yvan’s angular face tenses. “He was killed on the Eastern Front, a few days before Verpacia was liberated from the Gardnerians.” He takes a deep breath, eyes narrowed, as if sizing me up to decide if he can fully trust me. “My father...he was a prominent figure in the Resistance. My mother didn’t want anyone to know I was his son. So she moved me to a remote area and schooled me at home.”

“You must look a great deal like your father.”

Yvan smiles at this, as if I’ve inadvertently said something extremely ironic. “The resemblance is striking, yes.”

“Our lives,” I muse, “they’ve been similar...”

Yvan makes a contemptuous sound of disagreement. “There isnothingsimilar about our lives.”

“No, there is,” I counter, a bit put out by being so summarily dismissed. “When I was about five years old, my uncle moved us out of Valgard and to Halfix. It borders the northern wilds, in the middle of nowhere. I was schooled at home, just like you. I realize now he was trying to protect me from the attention lookingexactlylike my grandmother would bring. Just like your mother, he wanted me to be safe.”

Yvan considers this, and I can tell he sees that I have a point.

“So,” I say, after a few minutes of awkward silence, “you’re becoming a physician.”

“Yes.” He nods. “Like my father. And you? You’re becoming an apothecary?”

“Yes, like my mother,” I reply. “I’ve always been interested in growing herbs, making medicines. But I never dreamed I’d be attending University. I always wanted to. Before I was sent here, I thought I’d be a violin maker, like my uncle...”

The words catch in my throat, and I can’t help it. At the thought of Uncle Edwin, I start to tear up. “He’s...he’s very sick.” I look down at my feet, struggling with my emotions.

“So...you know how to make violins?” Yvan’s voice is low and kind.

I nod.

“From...wood?”

This strikes me as funny, and I smile, wipe my tears and look up at him. “With the right tools, yes.”

He thinks about this for a moment. “That’s...impressive.”

“I suppose it is,” I agree, feeling unsettled by the compliment.

“But the Guilds...”

I shrug. “Won’t let women learn the trade. I know. My uncle taught me in secret.”

He stands there for a moment, a surprised look on his face. “Have you played violin for a long time?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Since I was a small child. And...and you? Do you play any instruments? Anything?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, looking as if he’s distracted by his own thoughts. “I heard a Fae violinist once, though. I was very young. I can still remember it. It was...beautiful.”

The look of longing in his emerald eyes as he says the last few words catches me off guard, and I find myself flushing and needing to look away.

As I glance around the barn floor, I become aware of papers scattered about. I pick one up. It’s a page fromThe Book of the Ancients. Puzzled, I get up and pick up a few more of the papers. More pages fromThe Book.

“That’s odd,” I say as I continue to pick up pages, a stack growing in my hands. “Someone ripped up a copy of our holy book.” When my eyes meet his again, I’m surprised by the look he’s giving me. He’s grown as still as stone, his expression gone cold...and defiant. “Did you do this?” I ask, very slowly.

He doesn’t move, but his unwavering look of defiance is answer enough.

“Oh, take care, Yvan,” I breathe. “This is a major crime in Gardneria.” I hold up the stack of papers in my hands and gesture toward him with it. “Vogel wants to execute people for defacingThe Book. Were you aware of that?”

“I suppose it’s a good thing we’re not in Gardneria,” he replies, his green eyes hard.

“You’re treading on very dangerous ground.”

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