Page 126 of The Black Witch

It’s later that same evening when Ariel finally speaks to me again.

The room is a completely different place than it used to be. Wynter and I have cleaned it up, and the majority of the room, except for Ariel’s third of it, is now neatly swept and organized. A small rookery that Rafe has thrown together now sits by Ariel’s bed. It houses two stolen chickens and an owl with a broken wing that Ariel has been nursing back to health.

I have to admit, I’m a bit fascinated by the owl and enjoy watching the smooth way it can rotate its head almost completely around, as well as looking into its beautiful, wide eyes. I’ve never been so close to one before.

Ariel is an apprentice in animal husbandry, her desk a haphazard jumble of books devoted mainly to avian medicine. As unfocused and unhinged as she is around people, with animals, she’s calm and skillful. She loves birds especially, even to the point where she refuses to eat them.

I lie on my bed in the warm room, studying, a mountain of books and notes surrounding me, a fire roaring in the fireplace and casting a soft glow over everything. The owl and the chickens are perched on Ariel’s bed next to her, and Wynter is sitting on the floor, sketching the owl, while Ariel pats it gently.

Ariel unexpectedly looks over at me, eyes narrowed, her head resting on a pillow. “You could have had me sent away.”

The sound of her rough voice startles me, and Wynter’s sketching hand freezes in place.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. “I know.”

“I hurt you,” she insists. “You were bloody and covered in bruises. You could have had me sent to...to that place.”

“I know,” I say again, ashamed and uncomfortable. “I decided not to.”

“But,” she presses, becoming angry, “you were bloody...”

“I told everyone that I tripped down the stairs.”

She continues to stare at me as her eyes take on a glazed, pained expression. “I still hate you, you know.”

I swallow and nod. Of course she does. I deserve it. She destroyed a precious belonging, but I caused the death of something living, something she loved.

“I don’t expect you to ever stop hating me,” I finally say with effort. “But I want you to know... I’m sorry for what happened to your kindred. I didn’t know Lukas would do that... I didn’t think... I was so angry at you. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says flatly, cutting me off and rolling onto her back, staring blankly at the ceiling. “She’s better off dead than here. I wish I was dead.”

I’m shocked. “Don’t say that.”

“All right,” Ariel amends, her mouth curling up into an angry sneer. “I wish you were dead instead. And every other scholar here. Except for Wynter.”

It’s a fair enough sentiment, and I let it hang in the air unchallenged as Wynter regards Ariel with sad understanding and then turns to me, her expression softening to a warm look of approval.

I turn my attention back to my text, unexpectedly touched. And, oddly enough, I feel, for the first time since I’ve come to the University, a small sense of peace blooming inside me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Trystan

“Where’s Rafe?”

“Rafe’s out,” Trystan says absently as he lies on his bed, not bothering to look up from the large Physiks text he’s engrossed in.

The eleventh month has come, and with it a killing frost, the trees suddenly laid bare, the fire in the North Tower now a necessity.

It’s late, the end of another week, and I’ve spent the last hour wrestling with myHistory of Gardneriatext, new questions clamoring for my attention as I read and reread parts of the large volume. Things aren’t adding up, and I want to talk to Rafe about it.

We’re supposed to be Gardnerians, the Blessed Ones, the First Children, blameless and pure. And all of the other races are supposed to be the Evil Ones, the Cursed Ones. But more and more it seems as if life has the disturbing habit of refusing to align itself into such neat columns.

It’s all extremely confusing.

“What’s Rafe doing?” I ask as Trystan continues to read.

“Hiking. As usual,” he says absently.

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