Page 170 of The Black Witch

Refuge

Diana crouches down next to me and peers under the bed.

The Selkie is lying listlessly on her side, a glazed look in her eyes.

“I can smell her fear,” Diana observes. “She’s in shock. And she’s soiled herself.” Diana stands up and crosses her arms in front of herself authoritatively. “Elloren, go get your new violin.”

I’m deeply rattled and thrown by howunrattled Diana is. Yvan’s gone to get food for the Selkie. It’s best that he left, as the seal-girl was in such a panic to get away from him, she scrunched herself up far under my bed. She’s obviously terrified of men.

I peer up at Diana, my brow knitting together in puzzlement. “Why?”

“Selkies love music. I read it somewhere once. It may calm her.”

I get up and shoot a skeptical look at Diana. Trystan and Rafe recently gifted me with a second-hand violin, the only instrument they could afford. It was a touching gesture and deeply appreciated, but the instrument’s wood is slightly warped and it can barely hold a tuning.

Initially, I sent word to Uncle Edwin, asking him if there was a spare violin that could be sent, since mine was destroyed. I received a prompt response from Aunt Vyvian, who has taken over my uncle’s care and evidently his affairs as well, his mail now rerouted directly to her.

My Dear Niece,

I would be happy to send you the finest violin Valgard has to offer. I have friends who play in the Valgard Symphony, and I’m sure they could procure a brand-new Maelorian violin lacquered in the color of your choice. How does that sound?

You have great musical talent, just like your blessed grandmother, and I want nothing more than to help foster it once you are fasted to Lukas Grey.

Please let me know when that happy event has transpired.

With Affection,

Vyvian

Resigned to a substandard instrument, but bolstered by the fraternal affection it represents, I fetch the coarsely-made violin.

After what the Selkie’s been through, I doubt a little off-key music will make it all better. Still, it’s worth a try.

I sit down on the floor and begin to play, the music enveloping the room. Ariel watches us suspiciously from her bed. Wynter hops down from her usual perch on the windowsill to the surface of my desk.

“Keep playing,” Diana directs. “Her fear is lessening.”

After an hour my fingers are beginning to hurt, my neck starting to ache, but the Selkie remains decidedly under the bed. “It’s not working,” I say, turning to Diana.

Wynter unexpectedly opens up her wings and hops down from my desk to land lightly on her feet. She crouches down, then closes her eyes as if deep in meditation. Finally, she raises her head and begins to sing. She sings in High Elvish, the words smooth and graceful as flowing water, winding around the room.

“Elloren,” Diana breathes.

The Selkie’s blue-white arm appears from beneath the bed and reaches out toward Wynter. Wynter continues to sing as she takes the Selkie’s hand and leads her slowly out until the seal-girl curls into a ball and hides in the shelter of Wynter’s wings.

Wynter strokes the Selkie’s hair as she continues to sing her mournful song, a wet trail of urine now streaking the floor.

“We should get her cleaned up,” observes Diana, wrinkling her nose. “Ariel,” she orders, “go heat up the bathwater.”

“Do I look like your servant?” Ariel snaps.

“No,” replies Diana, “but wecouldmake use of your abilities. Don’t youlikestarting fires?”

Unable to resist playing with fire, Ariel stomps off toward the washroom, muttering to herself darkly.

* * *

Wynter and I manage to get the exhausted Selkie into the washroom as Diana goes downstairs to fetch a bucket and mop. Wynter cradles the Selkie and sings to her as I gently help her out of her clothes. The Selkie doesn’t struggle. She just looks at us with wide, sad eyes, her body limp as a rag doll. As I pull her tunic over her head, I gasp, my hand involuntarily flying up to cover my mouth in horror. Wynter stops singing.

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