Page 75 of The Black Witch

Lukas cranes his head forward as if he hasn’t heard her completely. “Yes,what?” he asks.

She seems to be struggling with her jaw for a moment. “Yes, sir,” she finally manages.

Lukas smiles. “That’s better.”

I gape at Lukas, both in awe and troubled by how ruthlessly and efficiently he wields his power over them.

Lukas turns to Fernyllia. “And you, Miss Hawthorne. You have a granddaughter here, don’t you?”

As if on cue, the back door swings open, and the little Urisk girl, Fern, runs in, giggling and hugging the big gray kitchen cat in her small arms. Immediately sensing the tension, her smile evaporates. She sets down the cat and half hides behind her grandmother’s skirts, nervously peering out at us. Fernyllia seems momentarily devastated.

Guilt pricks at me.

But they hit you, I remind myself.They beat you and threatened you.And Fernyllia did nothing to stop them.

“Please, sir,” Fernyllia pleads, “the child is only here because her mother’s ill. I told her to stay out of the kitchens, not to disturb the laborers...”

Lukas smiles benignly. “Relax, Miss Hawthorne. The child can stay. I’m sure she’s useful around the kitchen, and I’m prepared to turn a blind eye to her presence.”

Fernyllia lets out a deep breath and bows her head submissively. “Thank you, sir. You’re very kind—”

“No, don’t make that mistake,” Lukas shoots back. “I’m not the least bit kind. A child of her age, with hands as small and nimble as hers, would be a very useful laborer on the Fae Islands.”

Little Fern begins to sob, looking up at her grandmother in desperation, pulling at her skirts as she lets loose a stream of panicked pleas in Uriskal.

Fernyllia doesn’t take her eyes off Lukas, the way you don’t take your eyes off a very dangerous animal. “Fern, be quiet,” she snaps.

Fern, possibly shocked by her grandmother’s harsh tone, quiets down to a soft whimper.

Lukas glances around at everyone, his expression stern and unforgiving. “I want to make myselfveryclear,” he begins. “If Mage Gardner trips again, or bumps her arm on a pot, or accidentally spills boiling water on herself or so much asscuffs her shoe, I will see that the child is on the next ship to the Fae Islands. Is there anything about this that is in any way not clear?” He looks back down at Fernyllia, who is regarding him squarely now, but with no small measure of fear.

“No,” Fernyllia replies. “No, sir. I think we all understand your meaning.”

Lukas nods at her. “Good.” He turns to me, his expression softening. “Elloren, I’ll meet you here at the end of your shift. I’m sure you’ll have a much more pleasant work experience.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice stifled. I feel sick as I watch him leave, my mind in tumult.

Fern is crying softly into her grandmother’s skirts, clutching them with tiny fists. “Don’t let them send me back,” she whimpers miserably as Fernyllia, looking stressed and distracted, attempts to calm her, stroking her head with a weathered hand.

“Shhh, now. No one’s going to send you anywhere.” Fernyllia turns to me, the haze of fear still on her face, showing through her attempt at fake pleasantry. “Mage Gardner, you look tired. Why don’t you ice the spice cakes over there?”

I nod mutely, then go over to the sheets of brown cake, my stomach clenched into tight knots as everyone around me silently does the harder, heavier work.

For the rest of my shift, no one meets my eyes.

Except for Yvan.

Every time he brings a load of wood in to fuel the cooking fires, he shoves it into the stove, slams the iron door, then glares at me with a hatred as sharp as the kitchen knives.

I find myself withering under his hostile stare, my shame spiking when little Fern is quickly ushered out of the kitchens, countless worried glances cast my way.

I plop a pile of sticky frosting down on the sheet of cake and begin to slather it around as tears sting at my eyes.

I wish Lukas hadn’t threatened everyone so mercilessly—especially the child. I wish he hadn’t threatened to harm their families.

My sickening shame stiffens my movements as I work, Fern’s terrified sobbing fresh in my mind.

But what’s the alternative? To let them bully me? To let them kick me and slap me and threaten me with further violence? No, it’s better to make idle threats, if they now fear me.

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