Page 59 of The Black Witch

It reminds me of home. And I know that once Yvan gets to know me, he’ll see that I’m not a bad person.

Everything is going to work out just fine.

I summon what little courage I have left, push open the swinging door and walk into the kitchen.

As soon as I enter, every last trace of friendly conversation snuffs out like a candle doused with a bucket of cold water.

My transient happiness evaporates.

Yvan stands up so abruptly he almost knocks his chair over, the look of hatred back on his face, his eyes narrowing furiously on me. The fierce green Urisk girl and the blonde Kelt girl shoot up, glaring at me with pure, undisguised loathing. The two other Urisk girls at the table take on looks of terror, glancing from me to the books and maps in front of them as if they’re thieves caught with stolen goods.

I blink at them in confusion.

Are the books not allowed in here? And what about the maps? Why are they so afraid?

One of the older Urisk women pushes the little girl behind her skirts, as if shielding her from me. Everyone in the room begins casting secret, furtive glances at each other, as if they’re trying, desperately, to figure out what to do.

Everyone except for Yvan, the heat in his rage-filled glare radiating clear across the room.

I struggle not to shrink back, an uncomfortable flush rising along my neck and cheeks.

The plump, elderly Urisk woman who was kneading bread comes forward, a forced smile on her face as she wrings her flour-covered hands nervously. “Is there something I can do for you, dear?”

“Um...” I hold out my papers to her with a quavering smile. “I’m Elloren Gardner. This is my labor assignment.”

The blonde Kelt girl’s mouth falls open in surprise. Beside her, the fierce Urisk girl eyes me murderously, and the small child peers out from her hiding spot curiously.

The elderly Urisk woman before me swallows audibly and keeps reading my labor assignment papers over and over, as if there’s been some mistake, and if she only reads it through enough times she’ll find it—as if my being there is just too awful to be true. The headache throbbing behind my eyes spreads out to my temples.

I can feel Yvan’s glare boring into me. He’s taller than I originally thought, and all the more intimidating for it.

“I’m supposed to find Fernyllia Hawthorne,” I offer.

“That would be me, Mage Gardner,” the old woman says, attempting another fake, wavering smile before carefully handing my papers back. “I’m Kitchen Mistress.”

“Oh, well... I’m ready to work.” I smile weakly at them, avoiding eye contact with Yvan. “Just let me know what you need.”

“Oh, Mage Gardner, you’re really not dressed for it,” Fernyllia points out, gesturing toward my fine clothes.

“Yes, I know,” I say apologetically. “I just got in and haven’t had a chance to change.” I look down at my intricately embroidered skirts. “My aunt bought these for me. These clothes. They’re not very practical.”

“Your aunt?” Fernyllia says faintly, like she’s having a bad dream.

“Yes, my aunt... Vyvian Damon.”

Fernyllia and some of the other kitchen workers wince at the mention of my aunt’s name. Yvan’s scowl hardens.

“Yes,” Fernyllia says softly, “I know of her.” She looks up at me imploringly. “I must apologize for my granddaughter being here, Mage Gardner.” She gestures in the direction of the child. “Her mother’s sick and...and I needed to mind her tonight. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” I reply reassuringly. “I like children.”

Why would it matter that the child’s here? Is there some reason she’s not allowed in the kitchen?

No one’s expression budges.

“And Yvan,” she explains nervously, gesturing toward him, “he’s getting a head start on his University studies. Such a good student he is. But Ididtell him that he needs to get his work done elsewhere in the future. A kitchen is no place for books, what with all the things that can spill on them and such!”

I smile and nod at her in agreement, trying to prove myself worthy of their acceptance.

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