The Witch's Reward

by Liz McCraine

  “No, I need to think, to figure out what to do.”

  “No,” Lissa stated firmly. “What you need is to rest. You won’t be able to think clearly without sleep. The problem with the girl can wait until morning. Why don’t you go back to your chamber?”

  He stood up a little straighter and she recognized the signs of stubbornness. “I’m not leaving my father. Lucien said he could be dead by morning.”

  “If he keeps getting worse as he has done, then yes, he will be dead.”

  “I won’t leave him.”

  Rapidly, Lissa considered her options. “Why don’t you sit down on that chaise over there,” she suggested, nodding toward a large, comfortable piece of furniture that sat close to the fire. His presence here wasn’t ideal, but it didn’t seem there was anything she could do about it. He was too stubborn to leave his father’s side. “Close your eyes and get what rest you can. I will awaken you if your father worsens. I promise.”

  Her son looked like he was considering the idea, and she pushed a little harder. “As your mother and your queen, I am ordering you to get some rest.”

  She could tell he wasn’t happy with the order, but she knew he would obey. Honor and obedience. Sometimes being a queen came in handy, though it was being his mother that carried the true power of persuasion.

  After another moment of silence, he finally nodded. With a last look to his father, he moved to the chaise, sitting heavily down into the fur-lined cushions. It was late, he was tired, and she knew it would be only moments before the crackling and warmth of the fire lulled him into sleep.

  When his breathing finally deepened, Lissa rose from her chair and carried an extra blanket to him, spreading it gently over his legs. He looked so worn out. He had suffered during the journey, but she didn’t know how. Looking between the two men she loved, she thought about all she had seen and heard during the last few days. Lucien was making trouble, that was for sure. And he was lying to her son.

  Very quietly, she walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a dark cloak. She was tired of waiting for things to work themselves out. It was time she did something to fix this mess.

  Chapter 22

  Larra didn’t know how long she’d have to wait in the dark cell, and she didn’t care. She didn’t seem to care about anything, anymore. The small cell was damp and cold. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the small, dingy stone room and decorated the metal bars on the door. It smelled like damp earth, mold, and the cloying scent of old urine.

  There was a stone bench along one wall, with a dirty, ragged wool blanket piled on one end, presumably to offer some warmth against the chill. Larra sat on the opposite end of the bench, not daring to go near the blanket. Though she was shivering, freezing from the damp and the cold, she didn’t dare touch something that had been who knew where, and contained who knew how many bugs and diseases. She could handle death, but she couldn’t handle the filth.

  Her eyes stared blankly through the cell bars. It was still night, but a couple of burning torches set high in the hallway outside her cell gave enough light for the guards to leer at her when they passed on their rounds. They had passed only once before what sounded like the opening of a heavy door came from somewhere down the hall.

  “Leave us,” commanded a voice. The voice echoed through the dungeon, distorting it so that it became unrecognizable. The surprise of it shook her from her listless state. Shaking with cold, she rose from her seat and stutteringly made her way to the barred door. Leaning against it, she looked between the long, metal slats and down the aisle, dully wondering who would ask the guards to leave in the middle of the night.

  There was a pause and then the slamming of a door. Footsteps sounded down the hall, growing louder as they got closer to Larra’s cell. With the aid of the torch light, Larra could see a tall, slender man approach. As he reached her and she recognized who it was, she jumped back in horror.

  It was the same man who had told those lies about her to Christoff.

  He would have been a handsome man, despite his older age, if it hadn’t been for the sinister gleam in his eyes. He stopped when he reached her and stood silently for a moment, those sinister eyes growing even darker and an evil smile curving his thin lips. He had come for her, Larra realized, and though she didn’t know what he wanted with her, she knew enough to be afraid.

  “Hello, my sweet,” he greeted nastily. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for far, far too long, and I’m here to make sure you pay for your trouble.”

  Larra took another step back. “Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Now, now, there’s no need for you to be so jumpy; I’ve been watching you for days. Unfortunately for both of us, you didn’t die when you were supposed to.” He clucked his tongue as though talking down to a small child. “If you had just let my man, Smithen, take care of you like he was supposed to, you could have saved yourself an awful lot of suffering.”

  “Smithen was your doing?” Larra was shocked. She had never met this man in her life, yet he had sent someone to kill her.

  “Oh yes. You should never have lived long enough to reach the palace. But now that you are here, I will just have to make the best of a bad situation.” He pulled out a small, black stone, about the size of a large thimble and held it up for her to see. The stone began to glow.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Nor should you, my dear. But that hardly matters. What matters is that you are here, and you have something I very much want. Something this little piece of onyx will help me get from you before the prince has you executed in just a few hours.” He palmed the stone and with his other hand lifted a set of keys to the lock on the door. The clang of the metal lock releasing was like a toll of doom to Larra’s ears. With a rusty screech, the door slid open and Larra found herself backing into the bench as the sinister man moved forward.

  “Really, there’s no need to be afraid.” He paused. “Well, actually, yes there is. But it will all be over relatively shortly.” He smiled again and Larra wondered what it was that this man needed with her.

  She tried to escape him, but he crowded her into a corner, effectively trapping her. Reaching out, he clasped her arms and pulled her forward. She screamed for help then, kicking out at him and catching him in the shin. He yelled in pain and released one of her arms long enough to slap her hard across the face. Her head was thrown back from the force of his strike, smacking into the stone wall and stunning her. In that instant while she was still dazed, he clasped her again and pulled her forward. She stumbled several times, trying to get her bearings, and each time she almost fell he yanked her up again and shook her with a force that rattled her teeth.

  “Get moving,” he commanded, stepping behind her so that he could push her through the door and down the hall to the opposite end from the entrance. Larra’s head cleared for a moment and she tried to break free again, but he clasped her arms behind her back in one strong hand and grabbed her hair with the other, pulling painfully back until her neck felt like it would snap and her hair almost tore from her scalp. With tears of pain in her eyes, she was shuffled forward until the hallway disappeared and they entered a large, cavernous room. The man shoved her into the room and she fell down to the floor on her knees, catching herself with her hands. As she lay there stunned, he closed the door to the chamber, effectively ending any chance of escape.

  Larra clumsily lifted herself from the ground, trying to think clearly around the raging pain in her head. Her vision cleared long enough to see several racks nailed to the walls of the cylindrical chamber. A wooden stand at one end held various instruments ranging from metal spikes to grappling hooks to whips. It was a torture chamber.

  She jerked around, and like a wild animal, she focused on the silver-haired man who was her predator.

  “I see you have correctly discerned the use of this room.”

  “Who are you?” she whispered. Her eyes darted from him to the stand and back.

  “I am chi
ef counselor to the king, but you may call me Lucien.”

  “Counselor to the king? Is this what he ordered—to torture me before I’m executed?”

  “Please, don’t be so melodramatic. The king has nothing to do with this. He’s too soft to use torture to get what he wants. You are here strictly for my own private use. You see, you have something that I want, that I have been trying to get for some while.”

  “What?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “It’s simple. I want your magic.”

  A buzz filled her ears. He was going to extract her magic from her?

  “I’ve tried all the usual ways to get magic—trapping fairies, bargaining with carnies, torturing gnomes and the like. But none of my methods worked and I am weary of trying and failing. I didn’t consider using a human specimen until you showed up—unwanted, mind you—at the palace. However, since you are here and I am feeling particularly vengeful for having my plans delayed, I feel that I should take advantage of this opportunity.”

  “What plans?”

  “My dear, I am going to take back the one thing I have ever wanted. The one thing that was taken from me, that I have been unable to have for my very own.”

  “What thing?”

  “Tsk, tsk,” he clucked. “That is none of your business. All you need to know is that your presence here threatens to get in my way; which is why I told that young, arrogant prince all those lies about you. I can’t have you undoing my plans, after all.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Larra cried. Lucien moved away from the door and was taking small, threatening steps towards her. She had to find a way to distract him—anything to delay what she knew was coming.

  “You don’t need to know what I’m talking about. Obtaining magic isn’t necessary to my plans, but it is a small addiction of mine. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed trapping and torturing innocent fairies and gnomes. Have you ever heard the sound a fairy makes when its wings are pulled off? Their yells can literally shatter windows. It will be interesting to hear what sounds you’ll make.” He continued forward, both hands outstretched. Larra tried to run, anywhere, but he was too quick. She barely saw his fist lift before blackness consumed her.

  If she thought her earlier headache was bad, she was gravely mistaken. The blistering throb near her temple pounded against her skull with the same rhythm as a jackhammer. Larra’s heavy lids slowly opened and saw a rock wall immediately in front of her. She tried to jerk back, but found herself unable to move. Slowly turning her head so as not to worsen the pain, she glanced to the side. Her arm was secured by thick, heavy leather straps to a metal post. Turning to the other side, she saw her other arm similarly secured. Horror filled her as she realized that she had been strapped to one of the torture racks.

  “Ah, good. You’re awake.” She could hear Lucien’s footsteps as he drew up alongside her, leaning against the wall to regard her. She looked away, unwilling to meet his devilish eyes.

  When he realized she going to ignore him, he straightened away from the wall and stepped close, whispering into her ear.

  “Let me tell you how this is going to work,” he said quietly, sinisterly. “Do you see this stone? Here, look at it!” He grabbed her chin and jerked her head so that she had no choice but to look at the glowing chunk of rock.

  “This is a very special little stone. It contains mostly black onyx and a few other, shall we say, interesting metallic properties. That glow you see means it is detecting magic.” He smiled. “I got this little gem from my favorite people, the carnies. Yes, the creature that had this was quite willing to part with it by the time I was through with him. I understand you’ve met a carnie firsthand?”

  When Larra didn’t respond, he continued.

  “Carnies have some unique abilities. No one knows just how they arrived in our kingdom or where they came from. Nor do we know how they came by their powers. But aside from their bloodthirsty, savage ways, they’re easy enough to convince to talk when they’re in enough pain.”

  Larra recalled the way the carnie had fought with such savagery and without fear against two trained warriors. If Lucien could get one of those wild things to talk, she couldn’t imagine what he could do to a mere girl like herself. Her blood curled just thinking about it.

  “I believe this stone can channel magic. All it needs is a little willpower on your part and the magic becomes mine. The problem I’ve been having with both carnies and fairies is that they have been unwilling to use their magic in front of the stone. If the magic isn’t used, then it can’t be channeled. Oh, I’ve tried the usual tricks, torturing to the death and whatnot, but I can never seem to get them to use their powers. You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a weak little girl, a human. You are more susceptible to pain than any carnie, and not nearly as strong-willed as a fairy, so this should go fairly quickly for both of us.

  “What I need is for you to use your powers. And when you do, I will use this precious little stone to channel them from you to me. It’s so simple, really.”

  Larra could just imagine the evil that this one man could accomplish in the world if he had magic. There was no way she would give it to him willingly.

  “I can see that stubbornness on your pretty face. Oh, you may think you can keep your power from me, but we will see.” He left her for a moment to grab a weapon, and Larra began to struggle frantically against the unyielding rack. There was a moment of pregnant silence, and Larra took in a ragged breath as fear and anticipation hovered over her.

  CRACK!

  A searing pain whipped across her back, her skin feeling as though it had been cut with a thousand sharp teeth. She felt as if she were on fire. A single scream rent the air, and it wasn’t until seconds later that Larra realized it had been her scream.

  “My, my, my,” came the taunting voice behind her. “I’m afraid this whip has torn your clothes. And a bit of skin as well.”

  He came back to her side, smiling even as his eyes were freezing. In his hand was a whip with several long, leather strands running from one end. Tied to the end of each dangling strip was a sharp stone.

  “You’d better heal yourself, my dear. If you leave those marks untended, they will surely scar. No? Then I suppose I’ll have to help you.” He stepped away and Larra knew what was coming.

  CRACK!

  Again the fire-like pain lashed at her back. She felt she was being seared alive. With each crack she screamed harder, unable to control herself because of the pain. The agony was almost too much to be borne. Her head dropped down and she saw blood beneath her feet. Each breath was a sob as she fought against using her magic to heal herself of the agony.

  “What? Still nothing? Come, now, my pretty girl. I can do this all night and you must heal yourself sometime. And when you do, I will be right here to collect your magic. Why wait? You know you will give in eventually, so spare yourself some pain.”

  His words tempted her, taunted her. She hurt so badly, so very badly. All it would take was a little concentration on the pain, just the intention of healing herself and she knew the magic would be released. It would be so easy to stop the suffering.

  She warred with herself. She wanted to use her ability, but knew that despite the pain, doing so would bring equal if not greater suffering to others. Because as evil and powerful as this man was, whatever he sought with the magic would eventually affect the entire kingdom. Even her grandmother could be affected by this man if he were to gain what he sought. She must not give in; she had to find a way to hold out.

  She thought of Christoff and his betrayal. She thought of a life without him, of knowing that he hated her and wanted her dead. Remembering him brought back the utter desolation that had overwhelmed her earlier, the same desolation which had caused all feeling and emotion to seemingly disappear. She concentrated on that, on the memory of the disgust in his eyes when he told her never to use his name, of when he called her a witch, of how he looked at her as though s
he were the filthiest varmint in the world.

  The terrible thoughts worked as she had hoped, renewing the sense of desolation until she no longer felt the desire to use her magic. She seemed to retract within herself and even the bite of the whip couldn’t break her free. Why should she try to heal herself when there was no reason to keep living? She was hopeless, useless, worthless. Death, even by torture, would be welcome.

  If she had been alert, she would have known that Lucien sensed the change in her. Where she had once jerked and screamed at the touch of the lash, now she just hung there. Her withdrawal from the pain made him angry and he raised his hand again and again to her back, yelling at her.

  “Witch! Do you want me to kill you? Use your magic, you sorceress!” His strikes were fierce, nothing withheld as he brought the leather and stones to her back.

  Still she did nothing.

  If he hadn’t seen that her eyes were open or that she still breathed, he would have thought her dead. But she wasn’t. She had merely withdrawn and in doing so was keeping her powers from him.

  Chucking the whip to the ground, Lucien stalked over to the weapon stand and grabbed a long, metal hook. If the whip didn’t work, he would use something different. Walking back to the bloodied girl on the rack, he raised the hook and aimed.

  But just as he brought back his arm to strike, the door behind him flew open and crashed into the wall. Lucien whipped around to see who dared disrupt his business. He’d sent the guards to wait outside the dungeon with explicit instructions not to let anyone enter until he was done.

  The figure at the door was surprisingly small and covered by a heavy, dark cloak. A hood hid the features of the visitor and Lucien stepped forward, intent on finding out for himself who had dared interrupt him. But before he reached the person, a hand lifted and threw back the hood, displaying a wealth of silver-threaded golden hair.

  Lucien stopped in his tracks.

  “My queen.”

  Lissa didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She saw the slender girl strapped to the metal rack, her clothing slashed from her back and soaked in blood. If she wasn’t dead, she would be soon.