Page 62 of The Black Witch

“Look at me, Gardnerian!” the blonde girl demands.

Afraid of being struck again, I comply.

The blonde girl points an unforgiving finger at me. “If you so much as mention to anyone that you saw a child here, or any books or maps, we will find you, and we will break your arms and legs.”

“I think it would be quite easy,” Bleddyn observes, sounding almost bored. “She’s very weak-looking. So willowy.”

“Very willowy,” the Kelt agrees.

“Not much she could do about it, either. She’s a Level One Mage, did you know that?”

“How embarrassing.”

“Her grandmother would besodisappointed.”

I feel a spark of anger rise at their mention of my grandmother. I push it down and watch them carefully.

They eye me for a long moment. I wonder if they’re done beating on me as I cower by the wall, exhausted, filthy and fighting back the tears.

“Anyway,” the blonde girl finally says, “I think we’ve made ourselves clear. See you in the kitchens, Elloren Gardner.”

“Bring back the buckets,” says Bleddyn as they both turn to leave, “and try not to trip again.”

After they leave, I sob for a minute or two before my anger sparks anew.

They can’t treat me this way. They can’t. I roughly wipe the tears from my face. I may be powerless, but I can report them to the Kitchen Mistress. I won’t let them scare me into submission.

My outrage burning away at my fear, I take a deep breath and drag myself back to the kitchen.

* * *

I enter and am met by the same unified silence I departed from.

Bleddyn and the blonde Kelt girl stand bracketing Fernyllia and are both glaring at me menacingly.

Yvan looks momentarily stunned by my appearance.

Fernyllia and the others seem shocked, too, but they quickly recover, masking their dismay with carefully neutral expressions.

Only Yvan’s eyes remain a storm of conflict.

I notice that the child is gone, and so are the books and maps that were on the table.

“They tripped me and slapped me!” I tell Fernyllia, my voice breaking with emotion as I point at Bleddyn and the Kelt girl.

“Now then, Mage, you must be mistaken,” Fernyllia says in a conciliatory tone, but there’s a hard edge of warning in her eyes. “I’m sure Bleddyn and Iris meant you no harm.”

“They beat on me and threatened me!”

“No, Mage,” Fernyllia corrects. “Youtripped.”

I gape at her, stupefied. They’re all a united front—united against me.

Head spinning, I grasp for what to do. I could go to the Chancellor and turn every last one of them in. But first I have to get out of here safely.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the night off, Mage Gardner?” Fernyllia offers, but there’s a hint of a command behind her polite, subservient tone. “Get yourself settled in. Your shift here tomorrow begins at fifteenth hour.”

My outrage collapses into an exhausted, browbeaten misery, everything around me going blurry with tears.

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