Page 24 of The Witch's Rite
“Hmm,” I mumble, brain turning as I look down at her. “I think I’ve got a better idea.”
AFTER REMOVING MY ARMOR IN my quarters within the guard tower and quickly bathing, I pull on comfortable loose-fitting cotton trousers, then drag a wooden comb through my wet hair. There’s one window in my room, and it allows early-evening light to stream into the small space, making the dustmotes sparkle and illuminating the hen where she dozes on my bed.
“You’re lucky I’m the one who picked you up,” I say to her as I pull a green tunic over my head. She opens one eye to regard me coolly. “Smart hen, avoiding the other villagers.” She’d probably be in a potpie by now if someone else had scooped her up.
Despite the odd attachment I feel I’ve already formed with her, I certainly can’t keep her here. A guard tower is no place for a hen, and if she were to get out, I’m sure someone else would eventually catch her. There’s only one place I can think of that may be suitable for her.
“Come on, then,” I say to the hen before scooping her once more into my arms. She clucks and rustles her soft feathers, then settles again into the crook of my elbow. A bouquet of colorful flowers sits on my nightstand—purchased earlier today from the man at the flower cart—and I pick those up as well before departing my room and closing the door firmly behind me.
The air smells almost sweet as I head north on Brookside Road. The dirt beneath my light-soled boots is warm and soft, and bugs hum in the trees and bushes. Disturbed by my presence, yellow-winged grasshoppers take to the warm air to fly away from me, making rattling sounds as they go. The hen watches them with interest, and if I were to set her down, I’m sure she’d take off into the forest in an attempt to catch them.
“I think not,” I say to her. “Though I’m sure it’d be hilarious having me chase you through the woods.”
My words remind me of chasing Aurora through the forest, of the ghostly flashes of her lightweight dress as she ducked behind trees, the scent of flowers in her hair as I pressed my mouth to hers. The memory makes my neck warm and my abdomen tight.
In my arms, the hen clucks.
I step off the wooded path at the end of Brookside Road, and Aurora’s cheerful yellow cottage greets me, looking morefamiliar every time I set my gaze upon it. The evening light is striking it just so, making it look warm and inviting, and all manner of tiny winged insects drift about in the balmy air.
From here, I can see the blackberry bushes growing along one side of the cottage, and a few small birds flit about on the thin branches, plucking at the tiny unripe berries. I believe it will be some time before they’re ready to eat, but I’m already wondering if Aurora knows how to make blackberry cobbler. The thought has my stomach grumbling, reminding me I’ve not eaten since lunch.
“Rowan?”
Her voice washes over me like a magic spell, making my hair stand on end in the most pleasant way. I want to hear her say my name again, and again, and again.
Tearing my gaze from the blackberry bushes, I find Aurora standing in the garden. The sun shines down on her, making her green eyes gleam and her elbow-length hair glow. When I turn and head in her direction, her eyes shift to the hen in my arms, and she cocks her head to one side.
“Who’s this?” she asks as I open the garden gate and step into the little oasis she’s grown for herself.
I close the gate behind me gently, then turn to face Aurora. Her cheeks are a bit pink, probably from being out in the sun, but she’s not got any smudges of dirt on her face this time. It’s a shame, for it was so cute the last time I caught her working in the garden.
“I found her in the market square,” I say, holding the hen out toward Aurora. “Or rather, she found me. One of the villagers told me she was left behind by some travelers.”
Aurora brushes her hair back, then welcomes the hen with open arms. A small smile curves across her lips, and she whispers something gentle to the hen that I can’t quite make out.
“She’s beautiful,” she says, drawing one finger over the hen’s head. The hen closes her eyes, and I swear she makes a sound almost like a cat’s purr.
Speaking of cats . . .
There’s a rustle in the grass just before Harrison slinks into view and hops up onto a raised garden bed. He meows, tail flicking, and Aurora’s forehead furrows.
“She’s a friend, Harrison,” she says, “notfood.”
He meows again, ears flicking back, and Aurora casts him a sidelong look.
“You promise not to bother her?” she asks.
It’s the oddest thing, watching her speak to a cat and hearing it meow back. But in a way, I suppose it’s really not that strange at all. Sheisa witch, after all.
I’ve spent a good amount of time around witches. King Jorvick has a handful in his employ, a group of wild-haired women called the Shadowfall Court. I don’t recall any green-haired witches among them, mostly those with red and black hair, women capable of wielding fire and shadow, using their magic in ways that make grown men tremble. Looking at Aurora, surrounded by plants and warm sunlight, I don’t imagine she’d much like being part of the Court. She looks much more at home in the garden.
Giving Harrison a look, she kneels to set the hen upon the ground. Immediately, as if she hasnoworry for her own safety, the chicken walks right up to Harrison. He reaches out a paw as if to touch the comb upon her head, but she quickly ducks out from his reach and scurries a few steps away. Aurora giggles, watching her go.
But I just watch Aurora.
And when she turns to me, her smile makes goose bumps rise along my bare arms.
Her gaze flicks to my other hand, which is still grasping the bouquet of flowers.
