“So this is where you go when you walk off by yourself?”
Yvan stares at me for a moment, then nods.
I take a deep breath, my heart slowly falling into a more normal rhythm.
“She’s been beaten,” I observe, my brow knitting as I take in the crisscrossing lash marks.
Yvan tenses, and he looks toward the dragon. “They’re trying to break her.” An anguished expression crosses his face.
“Will they keep beating her?” I ask.
He swallows, then glances back at the dragon, his eyes dark with worry. “They’ll place her with another dragon,” he says. “A young one. They’ll wait for her to become attached to the child...and then...they’ll torture it to death in front of her. I’ve seen it done. To another dragon here.”
He’s quiet for a moment. When he looks back at me, I can see the pain etched deep in his mind, his voice breaking. “I still have nightmares about it.” His brow tightens, and he looks away.
“I have nightmares, too,” I confide in him. “About Selkies.”
He glances back at me, surprised. “Selkies?”
“I saw one once. In a cage, in Valgard. She was screaming.” I wince at the memory. “It was awful. I’ve dreamed about her almost every night since.”
For a long moment he just stares at me. “I’ve never seen one,” he finally says. “I’ve heard about them, though.” He turns back to the dragon, his eyes darting to every last part of the cage, like he’s trying to work out a complicated puzzle. “The bars,” he says absently, “they’re made of Elfin steel. She’s tried to melt it, but it’s not possible. And they don’t use keys to open the cage. They use wand magic.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” I observe with dawning suspicion.
He doesn’t answer, his attention still riveted to the dragon’s cage.
My eyes fly open with stunned realization. “You want to rescue her, don’t you?”
His entire face constricts, as if suddenly caught in a vise.
“You do!” I marvel. “You want to steal a dragon. From a Gardnerian military base!”
Yvan shoots me an angry look, turns and starts back into the woods.
I run after him, struggling to keep up. “You’re going to get yourself shot—you know that?”
He doesn’t answer, only walks faster as if attempting to put as much distance between us as possible.
The dragon’s low, keening moan of despair resonates on the air, snagging my heart. Yvan and I both halt. Yvan’s back has gone rigidly straight, but he quickly gathers himself and resumes stalking rapidly away from me.
* * *
By the time we’re back on the Verpacian side of the border, the tension between us has become unbearably thick. It distracts me from keeping my footing, and I silently blame Yvan for every stubbed toe and scratched arm.
After a time a weathered cottage becomes visible through the trees. It’s unkempt, with tools scattered about, a weedy garden and unhealthy livestock in cramped pens.
“Who lives there?” I ask Yvan’s back as he walks well ahead of me, keeping the same unfriendly distance between us as he did on the walk out.
“The University’s groundskeeper,” he answers curtly as a flash of white darts through the trees.
A Watcher.
I follow its curving flight around the trees with my eyes. It lands on a branch just before the cottage’s clearing and turns to face me. And then it disappears.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
There’s something there. Something in the cottage it wants me to see.
I don’t know why these Watchers came to me with Sage’s wand. I don’t know why they’ve taken such an interest in me to begin with. But I’ve come to realize that when they appear, it’s because they need to show me important things.
I start for the clearing.
“Elloren,” Yvan says, “where are you going?”
“Just give me a moment.”
Geese sound in the distance as I near the cottage.
I hear a crash and jump back in fright. Then an angry male voice.
More shouting. Another crash.
Then a strange shriek, a sound both exotic and heart-wrenchingly familiar.
No, it can’t be.
The door to the cottage flies open, and a young woman runs out, her eyes wild, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. Her movements are unfocused, panicked, as she trips over a stone and falls flat on her face.
My breath catches in my throat. It’s the Selkie from Valgard. The Selkie we were just speaking of.
A beefy, bearded man with stained clothing and an unwashed appearance storms out of the cottage, following close at the Selkie’s heels. He quickly catches up with her, his face red with fury. Before she can get up, he kicks her hard in the side with his heavy black boot.
Fury rocks through me. Fists balled, I start forward, but reason quickly reins me in. I’m no match for the huge groundskeeper. I fall back behind a tree instead, my heart slamming against my chest.
The Selkie lets out a bloodcurdling scream and curls herself into a protective ball, cradling the side where she’s been kicked.
The man grabs her roughly by the arm and wrenches her up into a standing position. “Shut up!” he thunders, shaking her violently as she continues her unearthly shrieking. “I said shut up, you bitch!” He pulls his free hand back above his head and strikes her so hard that she cries out and falls backward to the ground.
The Selkie cups the side of her head with her hands and rolls onto her side on the ground, her whimper high-pitched and strange.
I turn in desperation to Yvan, quivering with outrage. He stands, frozen in place, mouth agape.
The man is now standing over her, his large hands on his broad hips as the Selkie cowers below him.
“The next time I tell you to do something, you stupid animal,” he bellows as he jabs a sausagy finger in her direction, “you better damn well do it!” He grabs up a ring of keys hanging from a wall hook and storms over to the Selkie, then wrenches her up by her hair.
She gasps as the groundskeeper swipes up a metal collar secured by a heavy chain to a long post. He forces his knee into the Selkie’s back, throws the collar around her neck, locks it into place and pushes her headfirst onto the dusty ground. Then he storms back toward the cottage, throws the ring of keys onto the hook, mutters something about the “damn Selkies” and disappears inside, slamming the door behind him.
The Selkie lies there, whimpering, her eyes closed, her face twisted in despair, a large, bloody red welt now encompassing the side of her face, her lovely silver hair caked with dirt and mud.
Tears of outrage sting at my eyes. Animal or not, how can he be so cruel?
I’m suddenly filled with a wild, desperate idea.
I turn to Yvan, my anger solidifying. “I’m going to rescue the Selkie,” I say, my heart pounding.
His eyebrows fly up. “What?”
I crouch down and make my way toward the Selkie as stealthily as I can, my legs trembling beneath me. “Selkie girl!” I call out in a rough whisper.
Her eyes fly open wide, like two terrified moons, a low moan catching in her throat. She focuses in on me, and her expression abruptly changes as if she remembers me just as well as I remember her.
I retrieve the keys and rush to the Selkie as heavy boot heels sound inside the cottage. Pushing her silver hair aside, I force the key into the lock with shaking hands. I feel a warm flush of surprise when her metal collar opens and falls to the ground with a clank. I motion frantically toward the woods as I pull at her arm.
We make a run for it, scrambling across the clearing and into the woods.
Upon spotting Yvan, she lets out a terrified shr
iek and falls backward, her feet frantically skidding against the forest floor as she holds up her arms to ward him off.
“Back up, Yvan!” I push my hand out toward him.
Yvan falls back and crouches low, his palms up.
I clasp the Selkie’s trembling shoulders. She flinches as I touch her. I reach a hand up to gently stroke her hair. “Shhhh,” I croon. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Her hair is a strange and wonderful consistency, soft as warm water. “We’ve got to get you out of here,” I say, wishing I could speak Seal. Her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out, the gills on her neck flapping open and closed.
I manage to pull her into a crouch as her eyes dart around in panic. We slowly start away from the cottage, both the Selkie and I tripping repeatedly over our feet, made clumsy by fear. Yvan keeps his distance off to the side, always keeping us within sight, his face tense.
Soon we find our courage, along with our footing, and break into a run, leaping over logs, swerving around trees, the forest whizzing by, listening desperately for the sound of heavy footsteps behind us. I keep my hand tight on the Selkie’s wrist as we run for what seems like forever. We run until my breath starts to feel like sharp glass, my sides cramping up.
A clearing appears just ahead. The blessed University grounds.
I never imagined I’d be so overjoyed to see the North Tower.
We slow, the Selkie and I panting heavily, her gills ruffled open, her thin wrist weak and fragile in my hand. She stumbles, and I throw an arm around her before she can fall. We’re a few paces away from the University grounds, barely hidden by the thinning trees.
“Elloren.” I hear Yvan’s calm voice from a few feet away. The Selkie flinches at the sound of it. “Have you thought through where you’re going to hide her?” Yvan is leaning calmly against the trunk of a large tree, studying me, looking like he hasn’t even broken a sweat.
“No,” I reply defensively as I reach up with my free hand to stroke the trembling Selkie’s strange hair.
“This is a little reckless, you know that, right?”
I glare at him as I catch my breath. “Oh, and rescuing dragons from the Gardnerian military isn’t?” I really don’t need this from him right now.
The corners of his mouth lift into a wry smile.
“It was the right thing to do, Yvan,” I say.
He nods, serious again. “I know it was.”
There’s something new in his expression. Something that catches me completely off guard.
Respect.
We’re both startled by the sound of a horse whinnying nearby.
I whip my head around and see Andras Volya, the young, heavily rune-marked Amaz man—Professor Volya’s son. He’s a short distance away from us, across the wide field astride a large, black mare.
He’s staring straight at us.
The horror of being discovered presses down on me.
Andras pulls hard on the horse’s mane. The animal rears and turns sharply around before galloping away toward the University stables.
“Oh, Sweet Ancient One,” I breathe. “You don’t think he saw us, do you?”
“I think he did,” Yvan says, his voice low.
“What do you think he’ll do?”
Yvan narrows his gaze and looks toward Andras’s receding figure. “I don’t know.” He sets his green eyes on me. “But we need to get her inside. Before anyone else sees her.”
CHAPTER NINE
Refuge
Diana crouches down next to me and peers under the bed.
The Selkie is lying listlessly on her side, a glazed look in her eyes.
“I can smell her fear,” Diana observes. “She’s in shock. And she’s soiled herself.” Diana stands up and crosses her arms in front of herself authoritatively. “Elloren, go get your new violin.”
I’m deeply rattled and thrown by how unrattled Diana is. Yvan’s gone to get food for the Selkie. It’s best that he left, as the seal-girl was in such a panic to get away from him, she scrunched herself up far under my bed. She’s obviously terrified of men.
I peer up at Diana, my brow knitting together in puzzlement. “Why?”
“Selkies love music. I read it somewhere once. It may calm her.”
I get up and shoot a skeptical look at Diana. Trystan and Rafe recently gifted me with a second-hand violin, the only instrument they could afford. It was a touching gesture and deeply appreciated, but the instrument’s wood is slightly warped and it can barely hold a tuning.
Initially, I sent word to Uncle Edwin, asking him if there was a spare violin that could be sent, since mine was destroyed. I received a prompt response from Aunt Vyvian, who has taken over my uncle’s care and evidently his affairs as well, his mail now rerouted directly to her.
My Dear Niece,
I would be happy to send you the finest violin Valgard has to offer. I have friends who play in the Valgard Symphony, and I’m sure they could procure a brand-new Maelorian violin lacquered in the color of your choice. How does that sound?
You have great musical talent, just like your blessed grandmother, and I want nothing more than to help foster it once you are fasted to Lukas Grey.
Please let me know when that happy event has transpired.
With Affection,
Vyvian
Resigned to a substandard instrument, but bolstered by the fraternal affection it represents, I fetch the coarsely-made violin.
After what the Selkie’s been through, I doubt a little off-key music will make it all better. Still, it’s worth a try.
I sit down on the floor and begin to play, the music enveloping the room. Ariel watches us suspiciously from her bed. Wynter hops down from her usual perch on the windowsill to the surface of my desk.
“Keep playing,” Diana directs. “Her fear is lessening.”
After an hour my fingers are beginning to hurt, my neck starting to ache, but the Selkie remains decidedly under the bed. “It’s not working,” I say, turning to Diana.
Wynter unexpectedly opens up her wings and hops down from my desk to land lightly on her feet. She crouches down, then closes her eyes as if deep in meditation. Finally, she raises her head and begins to sing. She sings in High Elvish, the words smooth and graceful as flowing water, winding around the room.
“Elloren,” Diana breathes.
The Selkie’s blue-white arm appears from beneath the bed and reaches out toward Wynter. Wynter continues to sing as she takes the Selkie’s hand and leads her slowly out until the seal-girl curls into a ball and hides in the shelter of Wynter’s wings.
Wynter strokes the Selkie’s hair as she continues to sing her mournful song, a wet trail of urine now streaking the floor.
“We should get her cleaned up,” observes Diana, wrinkling her nose. “Ariel,” she orders, “go heat up the bathwater.”
“Do I look like your servant?” Ariel snaps.
“No,” replies Diana, “but we could make use of your abilities. Don’t you like starting fires?”
Unable to resist playing with fire, Ariel stomps off toward the washroom, muttering to herself darkly.
* * *
Wynter and I manage to get the exhausted Selkie into the washroom as Diana goes downstairs to fetch a bucket and mop. Wynter cradles the Selkie and sings to her as I gently help her out of her clothes. The Selkie doesn’t struggle. She just looks at us with wide, sad eyes, her body limp as a rag doll. As I pull her tunic over her head, I gasp, my hand involuntarily flying up to cover my mouth in horror. Wynter stops singing.
The Selkie’s entire body is bruised and beaten. Bright red lash marks crisscross her blue-white skin.
Diana walks in, swinging a large, wooden bucket full of soapy water in one hand, a mop in the other. When she se
es the Selkie, she freezes, her mouth falling open. She quickly collects herself and sets the bucket neatly on the floor and the mop carefully against the wall.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, her voice pleasant. “I’m going to go kill him now.”
Her tone is so nonchalant it takes my mind a few seconds to process the meaning of her words.
“Wha...what?” I stutter as Diana turns on her heel to leave.
She stops and turns to look at me like I’m daft. “The man who did this to her,” she explains slowly, as if I’m a child. “I’m going to snap his neck. He deserves to die.”
I spring up, my hands flying out to caution her. “Wait, no, you can’t!”
“Of course I can,” she says, annoyed. Her expression turns thoughtful. “No, of course you’re right, Elloren.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Snapping his neck would be much too quick and painless.” She nods matter-of-factly. “He deserves to suffer for this. I will beat him first. And I will mark him like he marked her.” Diana’s eyes momentarily take on a wicked gleam. “Then I will tear his throat out.”
Panic mushrooms inside me. “You...you can’t kill him!”
“Why do you keep saying that?” She looks offended. “Of course I can kill him.”
“You’ll get in serious trouble!”
She shoots me an incredulous, disgusted look. “With who? Not with my people. If my mother was here, she would have already torn this man to pieces.”
“At least wait until we’ve spoken to Rafe,” I plead.
She places a hand on her hip and glares at me with exasperation. “Oh, fine,” she relents. “I can smell your fear. It is completely unwarranted, but if it will set your mind at ease, we will speak with Rafe first.”
Diana directs Wynter to go and fetch Rafe, and to my surprise, Wynter leaves to get him without hesitation.
“Your brother will agree with me,” Diana assures me as she kneels to wash the wounds on the Selkie’s back with a soft cloth. “And then I will kill this man. And after I kill him, I will rip his head off and bring it back to the Selkie. It will bring her much comfort to know he is dead.”
* * *
A few minutes later Rafe and I sit on the stone bench in the hall, watching Diana pace angrily back and forth, Wynter having taken over the Selkie’s care.
The Black Witch Page 41