The Witch's Reward

by Liz McCraine

  The soldier’s expression was one of barely suppressed fury. He nodded and spun quickly away.

  The relief Larra felt was so overwhelming that she would have fallen to her knees if she hadn’t been on them already. She took deep breaths, trying to slow her pounding heart. When she finally lifted her chin to peer at the captain, it was to find him regarding her intently. Wondering about her. Judging her. She felt bare before him, all vulnerability open to his perusal. He wasn’t stupid. He knew there was something going on. But whether he suspected foul play on Smithen’s part or something entirely different, Larra couldn’t know.

  “Let me help you back in.” He bent and lifted her by the elbows, carefully assisting her into the wagon. She trembled beneath his touch, but didn’t know if it was because of what had just happened with Smithen, or because it was this man who was touching her.

  “I don’t know what has happened or what this bizarre connection seems to be between you and the soldier, but he won’t bother you again tonight. Go back to sleep.” He shut the door, locked it, then turned to the men at his side. “Either of you interested in taking the rest of the watch?”

  One of them stepped forward. “I’ll do it.” Then in a hushed tone, “Something’s not right here, Captain. Sir Griffen wouldn’t have left that lock unsecured. Smithen must have picked it.”

  “I know. But there’s no proof, and nothing we can do about it except to keep our eyes open. Thanks, Bart.” He clapped the black-haired man on the shoulder and turned to the camp. “Back to bed, everyone. There’s nothing more to see tonight.” The other knights, who must have awoken along with the captain and his men at the sounds of the struggle, nestled back into their bedrolls.

  The next morning, Larra knew that she had played a game with the devil and come out the winner. There were few words to describe her relief that the dog had whined loud enough to rouse the captain. Gratitude welled up from deep within her, and she was sorry she couldn’t give her thanks to the hazel-eyed man for what he had unknowingly done. She knew if she told him, he would ask questions. And if he asked questions, Smithen would find a way to fulfill his threats.

  This time, it was the captain who came to take her to the river. She felt understandably embarrassed when he first approached, certain that with her tangled hair and wrinkled gown she was not a pleasant sight to behold.

  He helped her out of the wagon. “Come. I have some questions for you about what happened last night.”

  Trepidation was too good a word to describe what Larra felt when she heard that statement.

  They walked through the camp, passing the men who were busy packing bed rolls and saddling horses. There was no sign of Smithen, and Larra assumed he had been sent to scout the path again, as he had the day before. The captain remained quiet until they were clear of the others. But once they were alone on the small, twisting trail that lead to the river bank, he began his interrogation.

  “I want to know what relationship you have with Smithen.”

  “Relationship?” she paused in surprise, and consequently tripped over a rock. The captain’s arm shot out and grabbed her just in time to keep her from falling to the ground. He released her immediately.

  “By your surprised response, should I assume there is no relationship?”

  “Absolutely not! Before my arrest, I’d never even met the man. And I certainly have no desire to meet him again when this ordeal is over.”

  “Then should I also assume that these accidents that seem to occur frequently when the two of you are together are merely that—accidents?”

  “That is exactly what I’m saying.” She hated to lie to him. Being dishonest went against her nature, but the price of telling the truth was too high.

  “Are you saying that he had no intention to harm you? Because by way you were trembling last night, it looked an awful lot like you were scared of something. If there is something amiss between the two of you, then you’d better tell me.” His tone was firm, demanding.

  “Like I said, I’ve never met him before. Everything that’s happened between us has been a coincidence. Nothing more. I don’t know what else to say to convince you.”

  She yearned to tell him of the soldier’s threats, yearned to ask for his help and protection. But she couldn’t. Instead, she could only wait and hope that the captain’s suspicions were enough to keep her safe until she arrived at the palace.

  They reached the river and she turned to face him. His hazel eyes burned in quiet fury, a display of emotion that should have surprised her, but didn’t. He was angry, and she didn’t blame him. She didn’t have experience at lies and deception and knew hers were obvious. He didn’t believe her and was forming his own conclusion of the situation.

  “Do you have anything more to say to me on the matter?” he asked tightly, a muscle clenching in his jaw.

  “No.”

  “Fine. We’re here.” He turned around and walked away toward a large tree, his back ramrod straight, his shoulders stiff with frustration. “And don’t forget to speak while you wash up,” he threw over his shoulder.

  Larra stared after him until he disappeared, and then proceeded to the rocky bank to rinse the sleep from her eyes. As she did, she tried not to care that in lying to the captain, the fragile, tentative relationship that had bloomed between them over the last few days was threatening to wither and die.

  Christoff braced an arm against the tree and took several deep breaths, trying to control his emotions.

  He hadn’t been deceived last night by that fool-of-a-soldier’s pretense. His sense of danger had been screaming at him and he had fought enough battles to know when something was wrong. The man had been livid at being caught in whatever game he’d been playing, but he’d held his tongue——a wise move, if ever Christoff had seen one. They had been at an impasse of sorts. Smithen knew that Christoff mistrusted him, yet Christoff hadn’t said a word. Similarly, Christoff knew Smithen was up to no good, yet Smithen had done nothing that could prove his guilt. They were both men of silent accusations and pent up anger. Neither had been willing to state the obvious, and neither had been fooled by the other.

  The soldier had been lying then, but it was Larra who was lying now. After tossing and turning most of what had remained of the night, Christoff had determined that there were only two possible conclusions for the midnight altercation. The first was that the Larra was in league with the soldier and that everything—the tightened bonds, the sounds of struggle, the innocent replies—was an act played to mislead him, to make him unsuspecting of their plot. The second possibility was that Larra was afraid of the man, but didn’t trust Christoff to be able to protect her.

  He knew Larra had no reason to mistrust him. Not only was he the king’s captain, he had treated her with kindness during their journey. Was she not allowed privacy every day to wash? Had he not carried her from the river in his arms when she couldn’t walk because of her injured feet? No kinder treatment had ever been given to a prisoner. He should receive her gratitude for such consideration, not her lies! If she was afraid of Smithen, she had to know that she could confide in him and trust him to keep her safe from the wretch. The truth was that if the witch was afraid, there was no reason for her to lie about it.

  But she did lie. Christoff had heard the lie in her voice just now and seen it in her eyes. There had been no “accidents.” Something else was obviously amiss and logic suggested that Smithen and the girl had some sort of partnership, some plot that they didn’t want anyone to know about.

  He was disappointed, even hurt, at the knowledge that this beautiful young woman could have so little honor as to lie. He had begun to like her, he painstakingly admitted to himself. Ever since hearing the gnome’s truthtelling, he had even begun to trust that her motives for having magic were innocent. And then there was the way she reacted to every problem she faced—with strength, courage, and perseverance. Even Griffen seemed to have formed a friendship with her, and he was known to choose his friends caref
ully.

  He was confused. Against his better judgment, Christoff had come to admire her. But now it looked like she’d been fooling them all.

  Lucien’s warnings came to mind: Do not trust her, even for a moment! She will use any tactic necessary to achieve her purposes. You must be on guard at all times. You have no idea what witches are capable of doing with their magic. Abruptly, Christoff’s confusion vanished. If what Lucien had said was true, then it was possible she could deceive a gnome. She could have used her magic to make the gnome talk.

  He felt a sharp pain in the cavity of his chest, close to the vicinity of his heart. He had begun to forget she was a witch. Had wanted to forget she was a witch. He liked her, more than any other girl he’d ever met in his father’s court or in his travels abroad. And he’d begun to forget who he was—her captor, the man trusted by the king to bring this dangerous creature to the palace to be judged.

  As he heard her speaking quietly behind the trees, sharing words that he didn’t care to hear, he determined that he would never forget again.

  By the time she finished washing and walked back to the tree, Larra wasn’t surprised to find that the captain’s mood hadn’t changed. If anything, the accusation and hostility on his face had multiplied ten-fold. The pretty little tune she had been humming while she washed was forgotten, and they began the walk back in silence. Even now his jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed and focused on the small trail before them. He looked not only mad, but determined. He looked like a man with a mission—an unpleasant one.

  As they entered the campground, she was handed over to Sir Griffen, who escorted her into the wagon. As he had on previous occasions, the older man treated her gently. He offered his hand for assistance getting into the wagon and gave her an apologetic smile when he locked the door.

  Before he could walk away, Larra scooted to the door and called out his name. He stopped and turned around.

  “Why are you so nice to me?” she asked.

  At first he appeared surprised, but then a shadow of sadness fell over him like a cloak. “You remind me of someone I used to know.” He appeared to struggle with some distant memory. “It’s the face, you know. And the hair.”

  “And it reminds you of someone you cared for?”

  “Aye, someone I cared for very deeply. It was a long time ago. Years. I hadn’t been a knight for long and was training for a position leadership. The position would have enabled me to marry the woman I loved—a woman of remarkable beauty, not unlike your own, and hair just as dark and rich. A woman that I thought loved me in return. But I was wrong.”

  “What happened to her?” Larra asked, curious.

  “We courted for some time, and then one day she just disappeared. I spoke with her friends, the people she stayed with, her trade master, anyone I could find. But they wouldn’t say a word to me about her. Just that she went home and didn’t want me to follow. I always assumed she was from the city, but evidently she had only been staying there for her trade. I didn’t know where her real home was.”

  He sighed and smiled weakly. “Obviously she didn’t love me as I loved her. But the past is in the past. I eventually met another wonderful woman who I later married and who now browbeats me every time I leave my tunics lying around the house.” His eyes twinkled. “Though she is not nearly as bad as I let on. She is really a very sweet, understanding woman, and though we have no children, we are very happy together. Life moves on, after all. Some people give up when things get difficult. Others toughen up and deal with the trials. You are of the latter group, I have noticed.”

  “I hope so,” responded Larra, “though I have little choice in the matter.”

  “There is a choice in every matter. And you have chosen to be very brave for a woman of such tender years. I don’t recall a single whisper of complaint since you have been with us. That in itself is remarkable, and has not gone unnoticed. Though the other knights haven’t said as much, they respect you for how you are handling this difficult situation. As do I.”

  His words were a soothing balm to her wounded heart, especially after her encounter with the captain, which had left her raw and hurting with the knowledge that she had destroyed their truce with her lies.

  “Well, I believe the captain is beckoning me to get a move on.” The twinkle left Sir Griffen’s eyes and he reached out to place one of his rough hands over hers as it clasped a bar.

  “I know you’re in a difficult situation,” he said. “I truly hope that this trial turns out well for you.”

  “Thank you, Sir Griffen. Your kindness means more to me than you know. And knight or not, I am glad that you are here.”

  “You are quite welcome. Don’t give up hope, my dear. King Steffan is a fair man. He’ll listen to what you have to say before you are judged. I am certain.” With those words of hope and consolation, he gave her hand one last pat, and left to join the others.

  Chapter 13

  With a heaving sweep of an arm, the old, dusty law books cluttering the top of the desk were flung through the air. They landed in broken, lifeless bumps on the hard floor, like dead bodies with equally dead words.

  Roaring with unsuppressed impatience and anger, Lucien turned away from the crystal. His hands rose to either side of his head, clenched fists to his temples as though trying to contain the frustration. His plans were going to be ruined! That lazy, shiftless, no good soldier couldn’t even manage to kill one slip of a girl. And the prince! That self-righteous pup kept interceding where and when he was least wanted.

  He couldn’t wait much longer. The group was only a few days’ ride from the palace. The king continued to be ill, but his sickness was progressing far too slowly for Lucien’s peace of mind. At this rate, the fool would still be alive when the witch arrived. And Lucien knew that if she saw how sick the king was, she would heal him. If only Lucien had started administering the poison months ago, this could all have been avoided. The king would already be dead, Lucien’s lifelong desires would finally come true, and the witch would be just another subject he could use in his experiments.

  But he hadn’t discovered the existence of that tasteless, odorless poison until just recently, when he’d travelled to Signon on official business. And though he would have loved to have given Steffan a heaping dose of the noxious powder the moment he’d discovered it, Lucien couldn’t risk the suspicion that the king’s sudden death would arouse. Thus it had had to be a slow poisoning.

  Now it looked like he’d have to risk the suspicion and up the dosage, anyway. He could practically see his goals and ambitions fading with each passing moment. And all because of the king’s unexpected strength against the poison, and his son’s equally unexpected instincts to protect a worthless girl.

  And that soldier. Why couldn’t he complete a simple murder? It wasn’t as if the witch was fighting him. No magic had been detected from her vicinity since she had been discovered, so she wasn’t using her magic to stay alive. No, the soldier was merely incapable of the task.

  And to think he’d had such a formidable, deadly reputation.

  In addition to finding the poison in Signon, Lucien had also found Smithen there. The man had been sentenced to death for the murder of two entire families, the reason for which was unknown. He was reputed to be both bloodthirsty and intelligent, a deadly combination. It was easy enough for Lucien to free him from the dungeon—a little poison in the guard’s dinner ration, some threats, and Lucien had a hired killer.

  It had been equally easy to convince King Steffan to accept the man as a soldier, telling him that Smithen had lost his whole family to sickness and wanted to be far away from where he’d lived with his beloved wife and children and the painful memories that existed there. King Steffan had believed the touching story, agreeing that Smithen could have a place among his soldiers, so long as he pledged his allegiance to Aggadorn. Such a touching story, such easy lies to spin.

  But Lucien had obviously overvalued the man’s worth.

  He knew ex
actly what he had to do. It wasn’t a pleasant task, trying to communicate with the carnies, but there was no other way to accomplish his purposes within the limited time frame he had left. He would have to use the onyx stone to keep them from trying to drink his blood, but he knew he could manage the task. Besides, it would be simple enough to make a deal with one of their leaders. If they helped him, he would agree to stop catching and using carnies in his experiments with magic. He hadn’t been successful in extracting magic from them, anyway, so it was no real loss.

  His obsession with obtaining magic had begun when he was just a child hiding in a tree, watching as his family was slaughtered by carnies. His mother had died when he was a baby, and his father and older brothers had delighted in taking their frustrations out on him in the only way they knew—with brutality. So their deaths had brought no feelings of loss. Instead, his experience at such a tender age had formed a fascination with how magic worked, and how he could have such magnificent power for himself. It was an obsession second to one other thing—the only thing that kept him human, even as his soul fought to be a monster.

  Riding to the nearest known carnie settlement would take time, but within two days he should have the problem solved. He would also save himself some trouble and have the flesh-eaters take care of that useless soldier and arrogant prince at the same time as the girl. Why, he’d just take care of the whole group and call it a quirk of fate, an unfortunate accident. And with both the king and the prince gone, the queen would be lonely and grief-stricken, and needing a shoulder to cry on.

  Very useful, indeed.

  Chapter 14

  “They shouldn’t be eating those berries,” Larra pointed out to Christoff as he passed. Despite how weary she knew he must be, he managed to appear unaffected by the long day. He stood straight and tall, his heavy armor appearing no more burdensome than a feather on his shoulder; though she imagined that wasn’t really the case.