Page 23 of Magick and Lead
Rohree’s whole body ached—even her antlers. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She tried to look up, but after so many hours—or days—spent in the cramped darkness of the box, the flickering torchlight burned her eyes.
“Get her out,” a gruff voice said, and hands were pulling her up and setting her on her feet. Her legs immediately gave way, and she collapsed, only to be hoisted up again. The excruciating pain in her legs was giving way to pins and needles, though, and this time she was able to keep her feet.
“Well? Are you ready to behave this time?” the gruff voice demanded.
Rohree opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt as if it had been sealed shut with grit.
“Water,” she rasped.
The only water she’d gotten in the box was a trickle her captors had ladled into a small hole in the lid. It had drizzled down onto her head, and she’d had to crane her neck sideways and stick her tongue out to try and siphon the meager drizzle into her mouth. In the end, she’d always ended up soaked—andstill thirsty. As a result, her mouth felt dry as a cobblestone in summer, and dehydration made her whole head throb.
Her vision was returning, and she saw a shadowy form bob as her inquisitor nodded. Someone put a cup roughly to her mouth and tipped it. She felt cold water slip between her lips and drizzle down her front, then the cup was gone again, far too fast. Her throat would barely swallow the liquid, but the taste of it, the feeling of it, made her want more so badly she could almost have wept—if her dehydrated eyes could have made tears.
“I said, are you ready to behave?” the man demanded again.
This time, she didn’t try to speak. Instead, she nodded.
“Good,” the man grunted. “Clean her up and take her to Lady Amberleigh.”
Rohree found herself dragged down a dark tunnel, up a set of stairs, out a door… The light outside was too bright after spending so much time in darkness, so she kept her eyes shut, stumbling as the men dragged her across a field and into a low stable that smelled pleasantly of hay and horses. Her soiled clothes were stripped away, and she was dunked in a barrel of freezing water, then draped in a too-large dress of coarse fabric. Her vision was acclimating to the light bit by bit, and she was at last able to open her eyes wide enough to see her captors. As she’d expected, they wore the robes of the Gray Brotherhood. The dress they’d put her in was of the same coarse material, only the color of undyed wool.
On the other side of the barn, a horse neighed. Rohree saw a huge, midnight black destrier hanging its head over a stall door, flicking at a fly with one ear. Four or five nearly identical horses stood stamping and sighing in their stalls, too. And a trio of hulking Lacunae knights in black armor stood near their steeds, talking in low voices. So, it wasn’t just the Brothers here, Rohree thought. The witch had soldiers, too… Great.
The two Brothers had been appraising her appearance. Now, they nodded to one another and, each grabbing one of her arms, they led her out of the barn again. As her vision adjusted, she saw she was in a windswept meadow. And she also saw the place they were taking her back to, an ancient, decrepit tower of black stone. Two crows sat atop it, glaring down with glassy eyes. Something about the sight of that leaning stone edifice standing alone against the cloudless blue sky struck a chord deep inside Rohree. It felt like a vision from a nightmare. And in fact, it was a nightmare—a waking nightmare Rohree had lived for the past two months.
For she knew who waited inside.
The one they called Lady Amberleigh. The witch.
Dread crescendoed in Rohree, so strong it made her bile rise and her hands tremble. She would have tried to run if her legs had been functioning properly. But however many days she’d spent locked in that box, cramped and starving and stinking of her own waste, had left her too weak to do anything but stagger along as the Gray Brothers opened the door and shoved her inside, into a small entryway.
The inside of the tower smelled strongly of spices and cooking food—but also of something more difficult to identify, some deep, musty, unclean smell. A rot. The scent triggered memories of the time she’d spent here already. Memories of pain. And terror.
In another room, she heard a voice humming sweetly. It sent a shiver of gooseflesh across Rohree’s body.
“Lady Amberleigh,” one of the Brothers called, and the humming stopped.
A long moment passed. A floorboard creaked.
Then, the lady of the tower stepped around a corner of the doorway, moving with the quiet grace of a cat. The witch was slender and tall, at least six and a half feet in height, with largehands and features that seemed strangely out of proportion because of her size. She had a mane of curly brown hair, pale skin, and gray-blue eyes that seemed as if they never blinked. Though female, she wore the drab robes of a Gray Brother. Before meeting her, Rohree had no idea there were female “brothers.” But she’d overheard one of the commoner guards talking while she was in the box, and from their chatter, she’d learned that this witch was in fact one of the Brotherhood’s most powerful mages—even though she looked no older than twenty.
Of course, looks meant nothing when it came to magick users. Some claimed the Brotherhood’s mages lived forever. Others, that they stole the faces off younger people in order to maintain their youth. Based on what she’d seen from this woman so far, Rohree would have believed anything.
The witch’s silvery eyes lit up when she saw Rohree, the look of a mad child who’d spied a toy they wanted to break.
“Well… the princess’s sprite is back,” she glanced at the brothers. "You may step out, but don’t go far.”
The men nodded and departed, the door clanking shut behind them. With a dark smile, the witch strode toward Rohree. With each step, Rohree found it harder to breathe.
“The prelate was merciful to let you live after all you had seen,” the lady pointed out. “And you have served the Princess Essaphine for many years. So why was serving me so unpleasant that you had to act out? Hmm?” She made a pouty face and watched Rohree, awaiting her answer.
When she’d first been brought here, Rohree had been placed in the box for a full day. They’d let her out and told her that the box should serve as a warning, then assigned her to serve Lady Amberleigh.
The first time she’d been sent down to the stream to do the wash, she’d tried to run. A trio of Lacunae and a pair of golenae sniffer-dogs caught her and dragged her back—literally draggedher, holding her by her feet and letting her head and shoulders scrape over dirt and bounce over stones the entire way.
She’d been placed in the box for three days, then.
The second time they let her out, she’d been assigned to cook for Lady Amberleigh. She’d been no chef while serving the royal family in Charcain, but she knew her way around a kitchen, and she made her all the sprite dishes she’d learned to make growing up. Blaynut soup, pestys, goat cheese, and ablinberry fritters.
