by B B Reed
Daniella’s hand lifted weakly in acknowledgement, waving her attendant off, “Privacy.”
“Of course, your majesty.” The attendant nodded, backing away while maintaining his bow.
Halena stood awkwardly next to the queen’s wheelchair, not daring say or move without the woman’s permission. Though she was a meek thing, the queen’s dress made her feel small and outclassed. The queen’s dress was pristine white, like fresh snowfall, decorated with gold-colored flecks and curls in the folds. Polished jewelry hung from her wrists and neck only adding to the woman’s decadent visage. Daniella’s alabaster chin lifted, though whether she was looking at the crowd below could not be determined by her jeweled veil, “Name?”
“C-Camil—” She stammered before the queen hushed her.
“Shhh… Your true name.” Daniella repeated.
The witch nervously wrung her wrists, the chilling sensation intensifying, “Halena. My name is Halena Maris, your majesty.”
Daniella’s lip twitched into the ghost of a satisfied smile, though it faded as quickly as it arrived, “You’re looking for something, are you not?”
She could hardly breathe, yet Halena strained to maintain her composure, “Why do you ask, your majesty?”
“You do not play their games, hide a knife behind your back, nor give into the temptations in these halls. Your eyes don’t look through stained glass.” The queen added, head tilting up. She could feel her golden eyes through the veil, catching a glimpse amidst the golden chain links. It made her head throb the longer the queen set her gaze upon her.
Halena let out a terse breath, averting her eyes to the ballroom floor, “I-I am merely attending with Lady R-Ravenwood.”
“To help her lay bare the unseen threats in the herd.” Daniella extended her pale hand out to the witch. Halena looked down, hesitantly letting the woman take her hand, then she folded the other dainty fingers overtop, “You can see what they cannot, gifted… As I am.”
Halena trembled against Daniella’s touch, her rushing blood in her ears and the room slowly spun and swam, “What is hiding?”
Daniella hushed her guest again, “Shhh… Beware the Lazarin pawns. They slip beneath the skin of our world, demons in the guise of man.”
That cruel serpent stirred, coiling itself up Halena’s chest as Daniella’s words echoed in her skull. Her eminence studies Halena’s fading color in her face, releasing her hands and pulling back, “You have felt their presence. You know him… Marchosias.”
A pair of massive, invisible hands gripped tightly around Halena’s skull, making her eyelids flutter and eyes roll up into the back of her head as that dark serpent bore down on her with a thunderous crash. She tumbled down, her temple thumping against the table’s edge and collapsing into a pile on the floor. The void of sleep wrapped over the witch, a total blackout of the senses into a bad dream.
Just as soon as the room and its brilliant lights had faded away to the dizzying episode, Halena’s eyes opened, the shapes before her blurry as she regained focus. Voices were muffled, limbs numb, and stars danced across her vision.
“…She’s coming to.” A woman’s voice broke through, the sound reverberating from the shape looming over her. Elspeth’s gentle features took form, party mask discarded and gloves exchanged for a white surgeon’s pair. She reached down to pull Halena’s eyelid up and inspect for trauma, then tried speaking directly to her, “Can you hear me?”
Halena groaned, “Elle…” The floor rocked on the waves of a ship, and she tried to move her arms.
Elspeth held her down, “Stay still. You hit your head when you fainted.” She flashed some blurry fingers in front of the witch, “How many?”
“Two…” She breathed, trying to blink the stars away.
The headmistress frowned, lifting her eyes to a smaller figure by her side, “She may have a slight concussion. Kat, send for Lady Ravenwood, let her know she’s lucid.”
Her surroundings slowly solidified against the haze of unconsciousness. Dark wood, towering cabinets full of glassware and vials surrounded her, the droning hum of a grand ball utterly absent and light struggled to shine through the shuttered windows. Elspeth touched Halena’s forehead with the back of her hand, “No fever, that’s good.”
“Where am I, where is everyone?” The witch whispered on dry lips.
Elspeth wrung out a cold rag, then applied it across Halena’s forehead, “The party’s over, I’m afraid. Someone saw you collapse next to the queen and you wouldn’t wake, so we took you to my clinic.”
Halena reached up to hold the rag, the throbbing in her head growing and her eyes widened. She felt around her cheeks and eyes, heart racing when she realized her mask had since been removed. Her eyes darted over to Elspeth, watching her get out of her bedside seat to fetch reagents from the cabinet. Some herbs were added to a mortar bowl and she ground them together, “You gave us quite a start, Halena… Or was it Camilla?”
No words could be summoned to her tongue and the witch did not let the good doctor from her sight. Elspeth looked over her shoulder with a gentle smile, “Kudos to you for playing the masquerade’s game so well. When we first met, I was convinced you really did work for Lord Calyrien, then my surprise when Lady Jeanne comes to your side to claim ownership. That level of disguise takes dedication.”
She added the ground herbs to a stout beaker, mixing it together with a clear liquid and clouding the water. Elspeth turned with the glass in hand, “This tincture will help with your head.”
Halena lifted her hands, taking the glass carefully, and braced herself as she swallowed the earthy swill. Her nose wrinkled with disgust as she forced it down, coughing after as pieces of the ground herbs stuck to her throat. Elspeth took the glass back, pouring some water to wash it out and filled it again to return to her patient. Halena washed her mouth, her thirst springing to life as soon as she began to gulp down the glass’ contents. She tried to peer through the shuttered windows in her room, unable to determine what hour of day it was outside, and then asked with refreshed voice, “How long was I asleep?”
Elspeth’s pale eyes scanned over her pocket watch, “About eight or nine hours since we put you in this cot. Jeanne and Inka stayed until after midnight before they returned home. They seem quite taken with you, for being a simple ‘traveler.’”
The witch blinked, struggling to digest the information, her tired muscles tensed in the presence of the professor. Just a moment ago she had been watching nobles sway to music and chatter over drinks, or it had felt that way. Elle sighed, tucking the timepiece away in her white clinic effects, “I do not feel ire for the subterfuge, Miss Maris. I’m humbled by your cleverness, and somewhat jealous that you work for Lady Jeanne. She gets all the fun by taking up her grand witch hunts. Still, I’m quite content in my part to steward the college’s halls, regardless of how tedious administrative duties may be.”
Halena slowly looked up to Elspeth, chilblains shivering down to her fingers, “Witch hunts? No, the Ravenwoods serve the crown. Lady Jeanne tries to save people from those that would harm others like…”
The good doctor frowned, “Lady Doctus? No, Vae Victa was hunted by Lady Jeanne like a dog. Her research was a joint effort that was overseen by the council of Manin to provide magickal remedies for public use.”
She tucked a wavy tress of pale blonde hair behind her ear, “Jeanne was so stubborn and intent on Lady Doctus’ guilt that fear had infected the Ministry. Though, I cannot blame her. The Ravenwoods were founded on hunting anything they branded as a ‘witch’ and have long since run out of prey to catch. The definition of that gross term has been twisted so many times I doubt it means anything at this point. I tried to persuade the Inquisitory Tribunal, yet… I know when I am beat.”
Halena’s mind raced, a wave of anger for such rot being spread, then her doubts hooked into the wrinkled tapestry of her knowledge. Had she been used to carry out an empty crusade fueled by a noble’s desire to maintain her family’s name? Wo
rds failed her and the witch stared up at the ceiling, dumbfounded. The doorknob jittered and the door swung open, an adolescent, tan-skinned girl with bobbed hair and a simple nurse’s smock escorted Lady Jeanne inside with Inka in tow. The noblewoman gave Halena a passing glance, then drew her dark eyes to Elspeth, “Is she exhibiting any other symptoms?”
The headmistress shook her head, “None that I can tell aside from a slight concussion. With some rest, she should be back to normal in a few days.”
“We can manage that much for care at my home, unless you say otherwise.”
“I see no reason for her to stay longer than she needs to under your care, Lady Jeanne.” Elspeth smiled and inclined her head at Halena, “Do you think you can stand with some help?”
Halena nodded, sitting up slowly and swinging her long legs off the bed. Elspeth waved her nurse over, “Help her up, Katrina.”
Inka departed from Lady Jeanne’s side and, with the nurse’s help, both brought Halena to her feet. She wobbled, much of her weight on Katrina and Inka’s shoulders until she stabilized herself. The scholar gingerly took Halena’s hand over her shoulder, “The carriage is waiting outside. We’ll get you back in bed as soon as we reach the house.”
Tilting her head to look over her shoulder, Halena caught a glimpse of the nobles. Elspeth resumed speaking with Lady Jeanne, “If her condition takes a turn, my clinic doors are always open.”
Jeanne inclined her head in thanks, though her posture remained bristled in Elspeth’s presence. She turned away to follow them out, “We appreciate the help on short notice, Lady Miriam.”
They exit the quaint clinic into the street at the base of the Spine, the familiar Ravenwood carriage parked and packed with their luggage. The sun had not reached high in the sky yet, telling of the morning hours still warming the city back to life. Halena’s thoughts swirled as she made her way with Inka to their ride, getting into the cabin with some assistance. Her head rested back against her seat, the heavy onset of slumber coming quickly over her senses. Lady Jeanne climbed in last, giving thanks to Katrina the nurse, and settled into her seat. She looked down her nose at Halena, her otherwise welcoming dark eyes icy, “We’ve much to discuss at the estate.”
XII
Contention
Fading in and out of the haze of fatigue and the effects of Elspeth’s drug, Halena’s journey back to the Ravenswood was fitful and fragmented. In its final stretch, the effects of the tincture lifted, replaced by drowsiness, though sinking fully into a deep nap was impossible while on the road. The carriage pulled up the drive, greeted by Dorian and a pair of maid-servants ready to help unpack luggage. She roused from her shallow nap, and could stand on her feet without help, though Inka insisted on accompanying Halena to her room. She sent Inka off and tended to organizing her new living space to her liking, unpacking her luggage at a sluggish pace. Once finished nesting and freed from her party dress, Halena exchanged the outfit for one of the white nighties. Her head throbbed and she sprawled out on top of the comforter of the mattress, succumbing to her exhaustion. Staring at the ceiling soon melted into deep, paralyzing sleep that sat on the witch’s chest. The ambient whispers and hissings of her traveler caused the rest of the waking world to slip away from her.
She thinks she is so clever. She thinks she can be saved. She thinks I am not watching.
Her door thumped, a round of knocking against the hard wood, and the sound echoed again in tandem. Halena did not stir from the noise, deaf to whomever might be trying to rouse her. Another set of knocks to the door rang in her ears, though the great elephant of sleep kept her down. She could see the frame’s outline against the swirling void she floated in, and the door creaked open, loosened from the forceful rapping of knuckles. Nothing waited on the other side, just the emptiness of her dreams.
I must feed. I must wake. My bones ache to move!
The empty doorway glowed with a brilliant white light and the shuffling of a giant against grass hissed from beyond. Her thoughts soon dawned on the familiar sensation of the shadowy serpent writhing in her head. Halena lifted her head to peer into the light and the echoing knocks rattled loud as summer thunder. The door slammed shut with a deafening crack and the witch shot up from the bed, gasping for breath. The room was cold, dark, not even the faint sliver of the hall lamps crept in under the doorway. Afternoon light was gone and the night had settled well over the estate. No creaks, no voices, silent as ever, until her stomach grumbled. Dinner was long finished if the hall lights were out and she crawled out of bed to crack the door open. Lying at her feet was a tray with two slices of bread. Halena bent down, retrieving the tray, and brought it to her desk. Her heart ached with a pang of guilt and she sighed, “Oh, Inka…”
The scholar’s kindness was dutiful as ever and it turned Halena’s guilt into mourning. This was unfair to her, for this demon would be an ever-present wedge between them. She knew this would not last. Her stomach grumbled again and she fessed up to nibbling away her snack. She chewed twice before her senses sparked to life, her tongue coated with the taste of cold wood ashes. Quickly, her bread was spat into a napkin, and she looked at the half-chewed dough. Nothing strange was out of place, only the brown fluff of her bread slice. Halena attempted again, only to be met with the same result, ashes, “Ugh! What the…”
You will feast when I can feast, frail flesh.
“I told you, I was working on it.”
No more waiting! You will find essence for me or you will starve!
Halena’s heart pounded with the violent response wracking her thoughts. She ran her hands down her face as she thought, “This is going so slow… What do I do to satisfy it until I can hunt a specter or even a wisp?”
Her eyes rested on the bread slices for a moment, her desire for it muscled away, and a spark of practicality dawned on her. The witch took the slices and began tearing them into small chunks, walking out into the hallway to sprinkle a trail with the crumbs leading into her room. The door is left ajar, and she took the silver knife from her bag, resting against the wall on the floor next to the pile of bread hunks her crumb trail ends at. There was no sleeping, with the clawing hunger and restless coiling of the traveler in her head, and she sat with the knife in hand.
It had been many moons since she had to resort to such desperate measures to keep the demon’s cooperation. Her thoughts wandered, remembering Saris studying her like an animal in the wake of her morbid graduation into necromancy. At the time, the weight of her burden did not sink until she had finished flaying a rabbit, seeing its limp body in her hands after a disorienting haze. There was no clear memory of how she had wrangled the creature before becoming lucid, a forgetful bad dream hiding it away.
Chittering on the floor stopped her wandering thoughts, and Halena’s eyes flicked to the rewarding pile of bread. A mouse inched its way closer, nose whiskers flitting with excitement as it continued to sniff more bread down the trail. It hunched itself next to the bread, miniscule paws snatching a chunk to begin nibbling it away. She held her breath, catseyes locked on her target, and slowly lifted the knife as she turned her torso to the mouse. A flash of silver gleamed in the moonlight, the knife tip biting into the floorboards. Not so much as a single panicked squeak was made by the mouse. Halena huffed and quickly pulled the mouse onto the serving tray, only a small spot of blood pooling under it. The scent of the fresh blood reached her nose, and the witch pinched pieces of the bread hunks in her fingers. The speckles were dabbed up by the bread, and she ate them. The taste of ashes was absent with the small dabs of blood, making her stomach growl for more. Halena took a deep breath, feeling the haze return, and she took her meal to the desk to mindfully prepare her catch. She muttered to herself as she settled into the chair, a calculated and deliberate tone, “This is not my hunger… This is not my hunger… Get it over with…”
The witch’s hand trembled as she hovered the blade over the mouse’s neck. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and grit her teeth together, making her
cut. Blood began to flow out, and Halena quickly scooped the beheaded mouse up, cupping her hand around the open wound. It was brought to her lips and she slurped the ichor ravenously, muscles still trembling while her mind kept repeating the mantra. As the flow stemmed, she tipped her head back, gently squeezing tighter around the mouse’s body to drink as much as she can. The slow release of the traveler’s coils from around her mind brought relief once the hot humors drained down her throat. Her teeth nibbled into the mouse’s fur, and she felt the desire to suck the corpse dry gnaw at her. Halena fought against the instinct and turned her head away, setting the carcass down. The taste was overwhelming to her addled senses, and sucked her sticky fingers clean in catlike fashion. She took a deep breath, the urges subsiding with the demon’s retreat, and looked to the bloodied tray. Regret washed over her back and the witch opened the window. The cool night air brushed against her face and she tossed the mouse remains into the pitch-black yard. She leaned on the window sill, letting the night air sober her senses, head hanging.
“Monster!” A shrill cry reached her ears, making Halena look out to the yard. Nobody stood out in the nightscape. The bird’s caw pierced the night again, “Monster!”
She squinted into the blackness. The blue eyes of a raven twinkled in the moonlight, tilting its head. Its crooked beak opened, the same shriek breaking the silence of night, and it fluttered off into the deep woods. Halena’s nostrils flared with agitation and she cursed under her breath, “Wretched woman… I haven’t forgotten.”
Her brain throbbed with the distant cackle of the demon, and she closed the window, pulling the handle to lock it. She took great care in gathering up her tray and cracked her door open to silently traverse the dark halls of the mansion. Her branded eyes revealed the dark corners as a nocturnal predator would, slipping through the dining room and into the kitchen to find a sink to wash the tray. She drew the water in moderate amounts to avoid noisy splashing, rinsing her dishes clean. Finished, she hurried out, bare feet hardly making a noise on the floorboards. As she crossed the foyer, the soft glow of light up the right staircase gave her pause.