Page 40 of The Captive's Curse
Generally speaking, so to speak, I had words for every occasion.
But not this one. I gaped at her like an idiot as she cocked her head and waited for me to snap out of it.
“Tarts,” I managed to gasp.
I ought to have been furious at the way he’d managed to insult me with pastry.
And yet…the man who’d so seriously insisted that he’d punish any of his men who touched me without my leave, the man who’d been horrified at the idea that he might mistreat a dawn mage in his custody? That man wouldn’t call me a tart with any serious intent. I could picture his half smile as he told Beatrice that the tarts were perfect for me, and the gleam in his eye.
He’d been teasing me. Perhaps he intended the mockery to disguise his kindness in sending me every single little luxury he’d enumerated earlier.
Well, he’d failed. I knew better.
Warmth bloomed in my belly, almost driving out the chill of the bedroom. The chill. He’d forgotten one of the items on his list, anyway, even if he’d supplied the tea tray, the hot water, and the selection of dainty pastries.
And then I realized he hadn’t.
Someone else had come quietly into the room as I stared blankly at the pastries. A little boy, probably no more than seven or so, knelt before the fireplace, busily laying out sticks over what remained of last night’s coals.
“Benito ought to be at his letters,” Beatrice said, with a smile so fond that homesickness suddenly stabbed me in the chest, a piercing, breathless pain. My mother looked at me like that sometimes. Less often, lately. “But he wants to help.” She rolled her eyes. “And light things on fire. Don’t make a mess over there,” she called out, and poured a cup of tea, adding a splash of milk at my nod.
“I won’t,” Benito squeaked, and started arranging larger pieces of wood in his masterpiece.
Beatrice handed me the cup. The sweet, earthy fragrance tickled my nose, and I’d have fallen to my knees in gratitude if I’d been standing in the first place.
“Nowhere to put the rest of it except on that table,” she said. “So you’ll have to get out of bed for it. Anything else, sir?”
“No, and thank you,” I said, as sincerely as I’d ever meant anything in my life.
I took a sip, and moaned, and Beatrice laughed. “Glad I could help. If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a mite rough.”
“I was chased by a fuc—” I caught myself just in time, with a glance at the boy by the hearth, “fusty old gho—uh, you know, I thought there was something there, but—”
“If you mean the ghost of the Mad Lord, I’ve seen ’im!” Benito piped up, turning from the fire with a grin of utter glee. “He has glowing eyes! And bony fingers, like claws! And—”
“That’s enough,” Beatrice said, in a tone so quelling that he and I both mumbled, “Sorry,” in unison. Beatrice smiled at me, eyes twinkling. “I wasn’t speaking to you, sir. You minded your tongue in time. Much appreciated. But as you see, he knows all about the ghost anyway. Old Vincenzo doesn’t like magic much, I don’t think. He chased Gerta all the way down the stairs the one time she came up here! Or you don’t know her, do you? She saw to you when you got here, but I think you were in a dead faint at the time.”
It took me a moment to digest all of that, washing it down with another swig of tea, but I derived several pieces of information when I did: that I’d clearly been trying to interrogate the wrong people in this castle, that everyone had indeed seen Enzo carrying me to a bedroom when he brought me here, and that the news of my being a mage had already spread to every single man, woman, and child under this roof. None of that surprised me.
What did surprise me was the nearly instant revival of my enthusiasm for discovering more about Vincenzo’s life and death. It’d suffered something of a setback the night before when I came face to face with his mage-hating afterlife, but Beatrice and her son’s friendly, communicative attitude acted on my curiosity like a tonic.
Fuck Enzo and his “none of your business” nonsense. I didn’t need him!
“Do you know why he doesn’t like magic? Who else has seen him? Does he show himself often? Is there anything left of his in the castle, do you know? And how did Enzo find this place, when no one else has been able to? Have you lived here—”
“Hold your horses!” Beatrice cried, laughing. “I don’t have time right now to answer all your questions, but if you come down to the kitchen later on, I’ll tell you all I know while I knead the bread. All right?”
“Refill my cup before you leave, so I can drink another without putting my toes on this freezing floor? And we have a deal,” I said.
“You’re as much of a weasel as Benito,” she replied, but she took my cup and poured me another, adding a splash of milk before she brought it back.
“And you,” I told her, “are a lovely, shining ray of sunlight in a gloomy world.”
I winked; she blushed and dimpled. Benito giggled. I drank my tea, feeling lighter than I had since I arrived here, and possibly for quite some time before. My own family didn’t like me, lovers often only stayed with me for a few minutes, and I annoyed Enzo, but at least these pleasant people found me pleasant, too. So there.
“I’ll see you downstairs later, then, sir,” Beatrice said, and made for the door. “Come on, Benito! The fire’s lit, no more fooling around with it. And don’t you dare,” she added, withouteven turning around, somehow knowing in that ineffable way of mothers that Benito had been sneaking toward the plate of tarts and licking his lips.
“Put one in your pocket quickly and save it for later, I won’t tell,” I whispered.
