Page 24 of The Black Witch

The older woman stares down at the child uncertainly, then directs her to fetch some fabric. A few minutes later the child returns carrying two bolts of cloth that are coming unwound around her legs, one ebony silk flecked with small, golden threads, the other a muted blue-black. They’re large bolts, and the girl looks to be out of breath from the effort.

Mage Florel lets out a disgusted sigh. “Textured silk, Effrey, I wanted ittextured.”

The girl’s eyes fly open in panic.

“Let’s make this easier,” Mage Florel offers, the girl looking about ready to burst into tears. “Get me the sample booklets instead. They’re easier to carry than the bolts.”

Little Effrey sprints out of the room, seeming eager to correct her mistake.

Mage Florel turns back to us, shaking her head in consternation. “I’m sorry,” she confides. “She’s new. And she’s beenextraordinarilydifficult to train. She just doesn’t listen carefully.”

Fallon snorts as she runs her hand along some velvet. “You’d think with earsthatbig, she’d be able to listen just fine.”

My head jerks toward Fallon. Mage Florel, Echo and Paige join me in looks of shocked surprise.

Fallon eyes us incredulously just as little Effrey stumbles back into the room. The child is lugging a thick sample book under one arm, frayed fabric edges poking out the sides. Fallon spits out a laugh and gestures widely toward the little girl. “Oh, so we’re supposed to pretend she doesn’t look like an overgrownbat?”

Effrey comes to a wobbly stop. She glances up at Fallon, her lip quivering into a miserable frown, her ears seeming to droop at the points. I watch as Sparrow shoots Effrey a swift look of serious caution, the older girl standing just behind Fallon Bane. Effrey immediately averts her eyes and looks down at her feet.

“Girl!” Fallon barks at Effrey with exaggerated force, then stifles a laugh when the girl jumps and whips her head up. Fallon flicks her fingers toward herself magisterially. “All right, then. Hand it over.”

The child lowers her head deferentially as she offers the sample book up to Fallon. I notice her hands are trembling.

“Thank you,” I say gently, in an effort to soothe the girl. I shoot Fallon a look of censure, bewildered by her cruelty.

Mage Florel is regarding Fallon with a pained expression, and she makes a point of dismissing little Effrey as soon as Fallon has the sample book in hand. I don’t wonder at Mage Florel’s deference to Fallon Bane, the presumptive heir to my grandmother’s power.

Fallon sets the sample book on a wooden stand and opens it. She takes her time, monopolizing the booklet as everyone silently waits. Eventually, she lights on fabric of interest to her. “Oh, here we go, Elloren,” she says, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. She pulls a dull black rectangle from the book and holds it up.

It’s ugly, rough wool. Of worse quality than the clothing I arrived in.

“I think this would be good for you,” Fallon beams, “especiallyfor your aunt’s party. Don’t you think so, Paige?”

Paige looks at the fabric sample, her brow knitting tight. She glances over at me and blinks uncertainly. “Um...well...maybeit could work...”

I can’t figure out if Fallon is joking. She has to be. “I was thinking of something...different,” I venture.

Fallon widens her eyes in mock affront. “But...this isGorthan wool. It’sverymuch the style.” Her gaze flicks toward Echo and Paige mischievously.

Before I have a chance to respond, Fallon slams the sample book shut and hands it, along with the piece of wool, to Mage Florel. “I think you should make her dress out of this,” she says decidedly, shooting me a wide grin. “In fact, I think you should make her whole wardrobe out of it.”

A sharp spike of resentment wells up inside me, my heart speeding up as I eye Fallon’s wand. “Wait,” I say, addressing Mage Florel directly. “I’d like to see the samples for myself.”

Fallon’s smile morphs into a half sneer. “Good heavens, Elloren.” She gestures around the room at the fabric surrounding us. “It’sallblack.”

I meet her eyes. “I’d still like to see them for myself.” The room goes so quiet, one could hear the prick of a pin.

Fallon’s eyes bore down on me, and I actively resist being cowed by her. They’re mesmerizing, her eyes, striped as they are with alternating lines of light and dark green, the lighter green streaks so light they’re almost white. They make me think of icicles. Sharp as spears.

After a moment of tense deliberation, Mage Florel sets the book down on another raised table beside me. “Of course, dear,” she says, her eyes flicking toward Fallon warily. “Go ahead.”

I open the book, uncomfortably aware of Fallon’s icy glare. I flip through the fabric, a violet-black square of velvet momentarily catching my eye, soft as a baby hare.

“Oh...look at this,” I gasp, half forgetting about Fallon as I turn to the next sample, the black silk lighting up red and yellow around the folds as it moves. “It’s extraordinary.” I turn the fabric this way and that, tipping it toward the closest wall lantern to watch the colors change.

Mage Florel nods her head in satisfaction. “Ishkartan goldweave,” she says as she removes the swath and cradles it. “Brought in from the Eastern Desert. Flame-gold worked right into the weave. Very fine. Very rare.”

I look down at the scratchy brown wool of my tunic from home. It’s like trying to compare the finest violin with some coarsely carved instrument.

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