Page 75 of A Witch and Her Dragon
But I can’t focus on that now. I’m too busy assessing the landscape outside the window, trying to determine where I am.
I’m on the second floor of a building, though I’m not yet sure what type of building. Outside, a crumbling stone wall wraps around the property, and beyond that, all I see are trees. Deep and dark and overgrown, the forest is impossible to see through. And given the derelict state of the outbuildings peppered along the forest line, I’m starting to determine that I’m being held on some abandoned farm, perhaps on the distant outskirts of the farmland surrounding Wysteria. But if I was unconscious all night and part of the day, it’s possible I’ve been carried many, many miles from Coven Crest.
I could be anywhere.
Dread twists in my belly, cold and heavy.
What does he want with me?
Behind me, there’s a creaking of floorboards. I whip around just in time to see the door creak open slowly. And Tristan, thetraitor, is the one who appears.
“Oh.” His dark brows rise toward his floppy brown hair. “You’re awake.”
He’s no longer wearing his Coven Crest robe and has since donned unremarkable brown trousers, brown boots, a forest-green tunic, and a cloak that looks warm and sturdy.
If I were to see him in Wysteria, I’d not look twice, and if someone were to ask me if I’d seen him, I probably couldn’t even call him to memory.
It’s the perfect attire for someone going about the dirty business of kidnapping princesses.
He steps into the room, a tray of food held in his hands, and pushes the door closed with his boot. “You must be hungry. I brought you some soup and bread. It’s a bit stale, but it’ll do.” He smiles.
And it makes my stomach turn.
“Howdareyou,” I seethe. “What is the meaning of this?”
Tristan crosses the room to the small table and chairs that stand before the fire. The table wobbles a bit when he sets the tray down, and he takes a moment to pull a square of linen from his pocket and use it to brace the table leg. He seems completely unconcerned, like the situation we find ourselves in is the most normal thing in the world.
Has he done this before? Is he even who Ithinkhe is? Maybe his name isn’t even Tristan.
“This isn’t about you,” he says as he straightens up and turns to face me. “You’re just one piece of the puzzle. But no one’s going to hurt you.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow and lift my shackled wrists. “Then why am I bound like a prisoner?”
“Can’t be too cautious.” He smiles at me like he’s my friend. Theliar. “I know what your frost magic can do.”
My eyes narrow. “Yes, because you went to class with me. Because I thought you were my friend. That was all a lie, then?”
“No, not all of it.” He busies himself with throwing another log on the fire and blowing flames onto it with his fire magic. I strive not to let my expression betray my surprise.
A memory flits through my mind: Tristan alongside the runeball field, trying and failing to bring a flame into his palm.
I was under the impression that he was a beginner warlock, someone only just learning how to control his magic, and he never led me to think otherwise. But I see now even that was a ploy, likely to lull me into a false sense of comfort around him.
Has it all been a lie?
“Is your name even Tristan?” I ask.
He has the audacity to laugh. “No. Sorry.”
“What is it, then?”
“Afraid I can’t tell you that. Anonymity and all.” He dusts off his hands, then gestures to the tray of food. “You really should eat. It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking. The king wouldn’t be happy about that.”
I perk up. “My grandfather knows where I am?”
“No, but he knows what we want. And if he follows our instructions, we’ll be taking you to him tonight.”
I don’t move, though my stomach growls again, making Tristan—or whoever he is—smile.
