Page 28 of The Witch and His Crow

‘Why did you do it?’ I asked.

‘You’re going to need to be more specific,’ he replied, feigning nonchalance.

I fought the feral urge to snatch the book from his hands. ‘You killed the witch who tried to?—’

‘Squash you with a chandelier?’

I stiffened. ‘Exactly.’

‘Would you be offended if I said I didn’t do it for you?’

‘No,’ I barked, almost too quickly.

That reaction entertained the man, who finally focused his entire attention on me again. My breath hitched in my throat. He didn’t look at my body this time, but at me. Right into my eyes. For a second something pulled taut between us, locking us in place. His expression hardened into a mask of unreadable emotion, much like the one I wore.

‘The first trial has yet to begin,’ he said, the fireplace crackling at his back. ‘I thought his attempt was lacking. It was cowardly.’

‘Somehow, I think I need a little more convincing. Considering everyone in this castle has it out for me, for some reason or other.’

‘Because they see you as a threat, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ I mocked.

He smiled at that, fine lines creasing the skin beside his eyes. ‘It’s best to face the person you’re trying to murder, look them deep in the eyes, and then act. He was a coward. He didn’t deserve to live.’

I swallowed the lump in my throat, noticing just how dry my mouth had become. Another glass of wine would’ve been perfect in a moment like this. ‘Who are you to decide who should live or not?’

‘Arwyn,’ he replied. ‘Arwyn Morgan.’

My mind went back to the chalkboard, wondering if I’d noticed the name.

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

Arwyn carefully wedged the book under his arm, all without taking his eyes off me. Then he stepped closer, further into the light, likely aware of the way his bright eyes reflected it.

He was otherworldly. It wasn’t helping prove he was, in fact, real.

‘I know what you meant, but I still refuse to entertain the fact that you’re saying anything except thank you.’

‘Then I’m going to disappoint you, Arwyn.’

‘Oh.’ He stopped inches before me, his boots brushing mine. I hated to do it, but my neck tilted upwards just so I could continue holding his gaze. ‘I hardly doubt that, Hector.’

His use of my name was disarming.

‘My reputation proceeds me,’ I said, highly aware that I had not given my name to him. ‘Clearly.’

‘I know who you are, just as well as everyone else in this castle does. You just made that clear.’

I found myself wanting to ask him what he knew. Turned out, I didn’t need to. Arwyn listed off everything he knew about me all without asking. ‘You are the lost son of Heather Briar. Your parents were… brutally murdered by Witch Hunters. The Coven has speculated your whereabouts since they didn’t find your body alongside your parents. The search continued for years, until resources and leads ran out. You, Hector, are an anomaly. An interest. Not only have you kept the Coven on their toes for eighteen years, but you’ve been the centre of the most…indulgenttheories.’

Did he really just use that word to describe me?‘

‘Some believed your body was so small it burned, leaving no traces of you. Others believed you have been kept hostage by the Witch Hunters, or perhaps you stayed with them by choice. Now you see why the witches here don’t trust you.’

Heat flushed across my cheeks, veins burning as though hellfire raced through them instead of blood. ‘Wrong.’

‘About which part?’

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