Page 70 of The Black Witch

Echo and Aislinn walk off as Lukas leads me to a nearby bench set under a wide tree. He gestures for me to sit down and I do. I eye his sword—the same sword he used to cut down the Icaral in Valgard. And his wand, attached to his wand belt. I’m glad to see him armed.

“I was attacked,” I tell him. “First in the kitchen, when I reported for my labor assignment—”

“Wait,” he interrupts, holding up a hand, “why are you working in the kitchen?”

“Aunt Vyvian,” I explain. “She won’t pay my tithe, so I have to work—”

“Why?” he cuts in, confused.

I hesitate before answering. He’s looking at me expectantly. There’s no way out. I have to talk about this. I take a deep breath before answering him. “She won’t pay my tithe until I’m wandfasted.”

He nods with dawning understanding. “But...” he says, in a low, affronted tone, “you don’twantto be wandfasted.”

I hold out my hands to him in supplication. “It’s nothing personal. My uncle...he’s sick.” My voice catches. “And I promised him I’d wait for two years...”

“Two years?”he spits out, incredulous.

“Until I’m done with my University studies.”

It’s clear from his expression that he thinks my uncle is an idiot, and that I’m an even bigger idiot for agreeing to this.

“Lukas,” I say, wanting him to understand, “we barely know each other.”

He’s quiet for a tense moment, regarding me with no small amount of irritation.

“I really didn’t mean to offend you.” I grip at the cool Spine-stone of the bench for support. “And I promised my uncle I’d wait to fast before I even met you.”

Lukas studies me for a long minute, one eyebrow cocked.

“Will your parents be very upset?” I reluctantly venture.

“Yes,” he says.

“I never meant...”

“They don’t realize how sheltered you’ve been. It’s becoming common for girls to be wandfasted at thirteen. Were you aware of that?”

“I’ve only just found out,” I reply weakly.

“And most people don’t get to meet first. Their parents make all the arrangements, and they meet at the fasting.”

“I...I didn’t know that.” I grip harder at the bench’s edge.

“We’re older than average, you and I. How old are you? Eighteen?”

“I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks,” I tell him, realizing something. “But that’s just what I’m talking about. I don’t even know how old you are. Regardless of how common this is, I’ve only just met you. I don’t evenknowyou.”

He laughs at this. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his lip curling up at the edge, “we seem to get on pretty well.”

I color at this, remembering my aunt’s party. His lips on mine. It seems so long ago, but it’s only been a few days.

Back before my whole world fell apart.

“How old are you, Lukas?” I ask.

“Twenty.”

“Sounds like you’ve been putting off wandfasting, as well,” I point out.

---