Page 24 of Magick and Lead
But after watching Lady Amberleigh burn two commoners alive for refusing to give her information about Essa’s whereabouts, Rohree had tried to poison the witch by mixing a night head mushroom into her stew. After one bite, the woman had spat it out—even though the mushrooms were known to be tasteless—and had Rohree tortured for three days and three nights by strapping her down and placing huge, painful leeches all over her body. Then, she’d been put in the box again. She had no idea how long she’d been in it this time.
Why had Rohree acted out? Because the witch was evil. Because she wanted to get back to her friends, to Essa. But mostly, because she knew from the stories her parents told about the escape from their homeland, after the invasion of the Sylph Lord, how the sort of cruelty the witch displayed always ended. Sooner or later, these evil ones tired of their playthings, and they broke them. The end was always death. And Rohree wanted to live.
“Why did you act out?” the witch repeated now.
“I don’t know,” Rohree muttered.
The witch pursed her lips, displeased. “And why do you think the prelate sent you to me?”
“Maybe… he… placed me with you because he thought you would break my spirit,” Rohree said. “So you could use me somehow.”
Lady Amberleigh fingered the beads of her necklace. Its pendant appeared to be the skull of a small rodent. “Iamknown for breaking spirits,” she said, as if flattered by Rohree’s compliment. “And I must admit, the harder they are to break, the more I enjoy it. I will break your spirit in time, Rohree. But first, I must give you the opportunity to do it the easy way. That’s only fair, isn’t it? So, where do you think your princess is now?”
The witch had asked the same question several times over the past two months, each time, with the same casual air—as if it were only a game to see how Rohree would respond. Each time, Rohree had replied the same way she replied now.
She thought for a moment, or feigned thinking, then shook her head. “I don’t know.”
In truth, there were half a dozen places she could think of where Essa might have hunkered down following the fall of her capital and the death of her mother—for, according to the conversations she’d overheard, that was the sad fate that had befallen Maethalia since she’d been captured. But Rohree wasn’t going to tell this woman anything. She would sooner die than betray Essa to the likes of her.
The witch nodded knowingly. “See? Your spirit does yearn to be broken. To be negated. To become one with the Void. It feels so good, Rohree, to open up and let the darkness inside of you. It’s all around us. And it SO wants to be let in.”
She smiled suddenly, a flash of too-white teeth, like the grin of a jackal.
“Have you eaten?”
Rohree hadn’t eaten—not in days—which probably accounted for the trembly, floaty feeling of her limbs and the knot of emptiness and pain in her belly.
“Come, come,” Lady Amberleigh said. “Let’s get you fed.”
She took Rohree by the hand and led her into the next room. It was a kitchen, and a pot of fragrant soup sat boiling in a blackpot over the fire. Lady Amberleigh steered Rohree into a seat, went to the fire and ladled some soup into a wooden bowl, then brought it over and set it before Rohree. The sprite’s stomach lurched with hunger so strongly it almost doubled her over. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
With shaking hands, she brought the bowl to her lips and sipped. It tasted so amazing, a groan of pleasure slipped out. She sipped again.
At that moment, there came a knock at the door. A Gray Brother entered, holding a rolled-up scroll.
“A message, m’lady.”
She took it, then shooed the man away. A glance at the scroll’s wax seal made her squeal with excitement.
“Ah, it’s from the prelate!” she said. Crossing to a desk on the far side of the room, she placed it into a basket with a dozen other, similar-looking scrolls.
Rohree noted it well. There was probably a wealth of information in that basket about the Gray Brothers and their nefarious plans, information that would be valuable to Essa—if only she could find some way to get her hands on those scrolls and escape…
The witch turned back to Rohree. “I’ll read that later. First, I have something to show you.”
A white cloth lay in the center of the table, draped over something—Rohree had assumed it was rising bread dough. The witch pulled the cloth away now, revealing a dead cat.
Reflexively, Rohree recoiled. Her stomach, which had been so eager to receive food a moment before, spasmed with disgust.
The poor kitty was stiff and smelled faintly of death. Its eyes, Rohree saw, were missing, carved out and left as a pair of empty, blood-crusted sockets. With a grunt of disgust, Rohree shoved her bowl of soup away. Starving as she was, she couldn’t eat with that thing in front of her.
Judging from her giggle, that was exactly what the witch had intended.
“A dog got her, poor thing,” she tutted. “But don’t worry. The kitty won’t be dead for long.”
She pointed to the cat’s side, where its tufted fur was smoothed by a patch of clay.
“She’ll be good as new. Better than new, actually. Here, watch.”
