Page 101 of The Black Witch

I gather my resolve. “Well, that puts me in a very convenient position, don’t you think?”

Cael stiffens and anger flashes in his eyes. “I should have known better than to expect compassion from a Gardnerian.”

My blood boils at his words. “You should have known better than to expect that I would roll over and play dead when abused by Icarals!”

Cael is clearly furious, but Rhys’s eyes fill with such raw hurt that it gives me serious pause.

“You have made your feelings quite clear, Elloren Gardner,” Cael says with cold formality. “We will not take up any more of your time. Good eve.”

He gives me a quick, perfunctory bow, and both Elves depart.

* * *

“Why is there a chicken in this room?” I cry as I step into my foul lodging.

A chicken runs around the room, bird feed scattered in a messy pile, droppings littering the floor.

Ariel glares at me with a look of seething hatred, scoops up the chicken and hugs it protectively to her chest.

“Get the chicken out of here now!” I demand.

Ariel springs up, the chicken in her arms. “No! You come near Faiga, Black Witch, and I will set your belongings on fire!”

“It has aname? Younamedthe chicken? You stole it from the dining hall poultry yard, didn’t you?” I take a threatening step toward her.

“I’m warning you, Gardnerian! Get away from my chicken, or your bed goes up in flames!”

“Go ahead, try it,” I challenge her. “You’ll be expelled!”

Ariel steps toward me, threatening in turn. “I’ll be expelled if I setyouon fire,” she rages, “not your things!” A slow, evil grin forms on her face. “And believe me, Black Witch, that’s the only thing keeping me from setting you on fire.”

I know I should continue the fight. To keep the upper hand, no matter what threats I have to make. But I suddenly feel overwhelmingly tired and beaten down. “Fine!” I relent, shooting her a look of disgust. “Keep your stupid chicken. This room couldn’t get any more disgusting anyway. It’s like living in a barn.”

“With a Gardnerian pig!” Ariel snarls.

“Shut up,Icaral.”

Wynter winces at the word, her wide, silver eyes now peeking out above her wing wrapping. Shame pricks at me as I watch Wynter cowering, but anger and fatigue override my conscience.

I’ll find a way to bring Ariel down. All I need is a few solid nights of sleep.

* * *

I’m awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of singing. I open my eyes just enough to see.

It’s Ariel.

She’s sitting on her bed, singing softly to the chicken and murmuring to it in turn. Gone is her usual evil, slit-eyed look. Her whole face is open, like a child’s. The chicken is staring back at her, making a contented, low clucking sound, almost as if it’s murmuring back to her.

It’s an oddly gentle scene, and it makes me feel unsettled and slightly embarrassed to witness.

Wynter is sitting at the foot of the bed, a large piece of white parchment laid on a thin wooden board in front of her. She’s sketching Ariel and the chicken, her thin black wings folded neatly behind her. She has a shiny white stylus in her hand and holds it at angles as she works. Her picture is oddly beautiful, the unusual art tool not only able to draw in multiple colors, but also able to capture the firelight so that it actually flickers on the page. I remember Lukas mentioning that Wynter is an artist.

Stop, I caution myself.

I force myself to remember the terror of my first night here, how Ariel attacked me, how I cowered in the closet, how Wynter never tried to stop her. How the Icarals in Valgard almost killed me.

I push all my thoughts aside and drift back to sleep.

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