TEN
Angharad
Arattling tray and a clatter broke Hara out of a fitful doze. She’d struggled to sleep last night after the revelation that the unassuming bureaucrat she’d met had been the man she was most afraid of since she was a child. The witch snatcher himself. Her gut had churned with unease, her fretful mind convincing her that he knew exactly who she was and even now was assembling guards at her door to drag her out and into a dungeon.
Blearily, she opened her eyes and looked at who had entered her room. If they were a guard, they were rather petite. Hara sat up and rubbed her face.
“Oh!”
chirped a voice.
“Good morning, Mistress. Sleep well?”
“Good morning. Not particularly well,”
said Hara, her voice scratching.
“Well, we can change the bed to your liking. Just lay back and say what you’d like,”
said the chambermaid, coming to Hara’s bedside. She had a cloud of blonde ringlets and wore an elaborately trimmed apron. The starched ruffles reached her ears.
With a few presses of some hidden switch, the girl showed her how to make the bed stiffer or softer, cooler or warmer. Hara had already been impressed with the bathtub that filled almost instantly with steaming water and the soft lights that glowed near her ankles as she walked to her bed the night before.
“What is your name?”
she asked the girl, who laid a breakfast tray on a smart little table that swung over the bed.
“Clementine, Mistress. I was ever so excited to hear we had a magical guest in this room. I’ve always wanted to see a real witch,”
said the girl as she plumped up Hara’s pillows. She could not have been older than sixteen.
Hara’s mouth hitched in a half-smile.
“I’m glad I was able to make your wish come true. Are there no witches here at court?”
“Oh, yes, but they work in a different part of the palace. Never in these rooms.”
Hara tucked into her breakfast with a brief smile to the maid. No, Gideon’s family wouldn’t play host to many witches. After a moment, she realized Clementine was staring at her while she ate. She saw that Hara had caught her and smiled nervously.
“I just want to let you know that your kind is welcome by me. I hold no grudges,”
said Clementine, holding her hands before her in a defensive gesture.
“Some might abide by the old ways, but my mother taught me witches are no different from any other creature, and we should treat them so.”
“Really?”
said Hara, the smile fading from her face. The girls’ eyes were earnest, and Hara suppressed the irritation she felt at being referred to as a ‘creature.’ This girl was simply ignorant; she probably did not realize how graceless she sounded.
After she’d eaten, Hara donned her black hunter garb. Recruiter, indeed. It wasn’t as though the captured witches had a choice. She wondered where Gideon was and if she should seek him out. The thought of roaming through the palace on her own was a bit daunting.
“Tell me, do you know where Lord Gideon’s rooms are?”
she asked Clementine.
“I can show you, but Lord Gideon was called out in the early hours. Some lawmen from Norwen needed him,”
said Clementine as she fixed Hara’s bed linens. The girl’s cheeks were pink.
“He’s rather busy.”
Amusement made Hara’s mouth twitch into a smile.
“I take it you fancy Lord Gideon?”
Clementine turned wide eyes to Hara, then her pink face dissolved into a bashful grin.
“I don’t know, Mistress. I never thought of it.”
Hara went to her chamber window and gazed out at the valley. The day was bright, and she could see the city clearly below. She could spend hours studying the carved stone and clean lines of the buildings, glinting and winking in the sunlight as birds flew between them. Snow-capped mountains framed the city in the distance, looking wild and frosty even in the spring. Below her was a sheer drop into a canyon carved by the waterfall that misted over the side of the cliff.
She considered waiting for Gideon to return and find her, but she was itching to begin her search. Where to start? Gideon had mentioned a clerk named Cauldwell, but according to him, he would not be much help. If she were a real witch hunter, what would she do if she were looking to find someone?
An unpleasant feeling entered her chest. She would need to seek out the person who oversaw all of the Recruiters. Doubtless they had access to all the prison and capture records. She would have to make their acquaintance eventually.
“Clementine, who leads the Witch Recruiters?”
said Hara.
“That would be Markus Turnswallow. They’re all on the bottom floors. I’ve never been down there, but it’s easy enough to find them if you take the lift down.”
Nearer to the dungeons, Hara thought darkly.
The Windsong fountain sang in sparkling trills today, illuminated by the sunshine streaming into the courtyard. Hara smiled as she passed it. A sweet feeling of familiarity glowed in her chest, like she had found a small piece of home in this strange place.
A metal lift had been installed on the landing just beyond, and Hara watched as it slowly rose and fell, scaling the wall on a series of pulleys. The thought of being tightly enclosed in such a contraption made her feel uneasy, so Hara elected to make her way down the long spiral stairway.
She had left Seraphine in her room, not knowing how the Recruiters would receive a familiar. Somehow she did not think Seraphine’s plump form and long whiskers would do any favors for her disguise as an intimidating witch hunter. A raven or a lynx would be more fitting.
This early in the morning there were not many people about, but she encountered a few courtiers on the grand staircase. She passed men in long fur-lined robes deep in conversation who did not spare her a glance. A beautifully dressed lady with lavender-tinted hair gave Hara a peculiar look before sweeping past with a chambermaid in her wake. The smell of lilacs lingered in the air after she passed, fresh and sweet.
The elaborate moldings and sculptures of the upper floors faded as Hara traveled down the circling stairs that hugged the wall, each floor becoming more and more stark. Now and then the corridors were marked with brass lettering, labeling the offices and chambers within. Finally, she stopped at a sign that looked promising.
Records
Recruiting
Research and Development
She turned down this corridor and studied the doorways that she passed. The stone walls were whitewashed with lime, and harsh white lights illuminated every corner. After turning left at the end of the hall, she found a door marked Recruiting and stopped abruptly.
How banal, she thought. This institution was responsible for shattering her entire world, and here it was, noted only by small brass letters affixed to a plain wooden door. She did not know what she had expected; blood smeared on the door or shrieks coming from within, perhaps.
Hara brought back her shoulders in a false show of confidence, then pushed open the door.
Black-and-white faces of witches surrounded her, glaring down from the bounty sheets that papered the walls of the stark room. Mournful, defiant, bruised, and some with rage-filled grins. Four desks occupied the central space, and two people dressed in black were talking softly as she entered. The man rested in a half-sitting position on the woman’s desk, and they both glanced up at her.
Clenching her shaking hands, Hara schooled her face into a bored expression.
“I am looking for Markus Turnswallow.”
There was a beat of hesitation, and Hara swallowed loudly. Had she heard the name wrong?
The man lazily got to his feet and disappeared through a door. The woman studied her briefly, her gaze taking in Hara’s bone knives before she bent over the papers on her desk.
It seemed a long time before the man returned, and this time, an older man with a pointed face followed him. This man wore a long black robe that fit tightly along his upper body and flared out behind him. He rather reminded Hara of a crow.
“Yes?” he said.
Working hard to keep the unaffected tone in her voice, she said.
“I am Hara of Mortimer, and I have been appointed to a position at court by Lord Gideon Falk as a Recruiter. I am here to do some special research.”
There was an uncomfortable silence before Turnswallow spoke.
“So Lord Falk thinks he can appoint anyone he likes without my approval?”
he said, his voice deep and measured.
“I don’t know what he told you, but he’s not in charge down here. I have a carefully selected group.”
His obstinance was to be expected. The type of person who would make a career out of selling out his own brethren was not bound to be pleasant and warm. But she had treated patients like him. Stubborn, untrusting. Rather recently, in fact.
In a cool, firm voice, she said.
“I have no desire to join your group, but I am here to do research on elemental power. There is some suspicious activity in Norwen, and I need to know the bounds of elemental magic and what signs to look for.”
The other witch hunters looked to Turnswallow. He crossed his arms.
“No one gets access to the records unless they are a member of the Recruiters. And for that, you need to be vetted.”
“What do you require from me?”
said Hara.
“What are your inclinations?”
the thinner man asked. He was tall and had ginger blond hair.
“Natural Seer, taught healer,”
said Hara. Turnswallow’s expression did not change, but the ginger man and the woman exchanged glances of interest.
“We’ve never had a Seer. Useful, that is,”
said the woman.
Hara continued.
“My future Sight is unreliable, but the past and present come readily. I can detect falsehoods with it.”
“We’ll need a demonstration of both abilities. Usually, we only take sorcerers with at least three inclinations, so you had better be a prodigy at both.”
said Turnswallow.
“Tell us, how did I come under service to Corvus?”
Hara nodded, then took a few steps forward and stood closely to Turnswallow. She preferred to touch the object of her Seeing, but they wanted to be impressed. She watched his chest rise and fall, studied the glint of his black eyes, the threads of his hair, the scar across his hand and the scuffs on his boots.
Closing her eyes, she tried to pick out his scent and the sound of his breathing. She slipped into the realm-between-realms, gathering the fragile threads of his influence. It was more difficult than usual to see the details clearly, as though she were dredging them up from quicksand. The bit of the past that he wanted her to fetch was clearly something he had buried deep. She had never used her Sight on someone with skill in obscuring their memories before.
She swam through his life, letting the past roll over her in waves, high emotional peaks and dark lulls of memories he wanted to forget. She lingered on the murky spots, sifting through them with effort.
. . . a brother who was highly praised, envy . . .
. . . a fight that escalated into his first kill . . .
. . . a crowd of creatures jabbering and dancing in a revel . . .
. . . men visiting from the world outside . . .
. . . blisters erupting on a witch’s skin, her screams harsh as the soldiers dragged her by her hair . . .
Hara’s breath caught in her throat as the cold realization hit her: he was there, that night. He was the one who hunted them. Her lapse in concentration made her knees tremble, and with a deep sucking breath she surfaced from the past. She panted, trying to control her shuddering. Hopefully they would think she merely trembled from the effort. When she could trust her voice enough to speak, she looked Turnswallow in the eyes.
“As a child you were sent to live with the fae. Corvus and his men visited the fae realm years later and took you on as a Recruiter.”
She stopped there, not wanting to go on.
She could have told him that she saw why he’d been sent to live with the fae. He’d had a younger brother who was clearly favored by their parents for his stronger magic. Jealous, Turnswallow had killed him when he was only a lad. Ashamed and horrified, his parents cut all ties with their son and banished him. He lived with the fae for years as a slave in their court until Corvus came to the fae realm, and Turnswallow saw his chance.
He immediately offered to help him round up any dissenting sorcerers that would give the new ruler trouble. Better to be the hunter than the hunted, and he would be welcomed back to the court after years of exile.
He hid his monstrosity well, this man who stood by as her mother was dragged from the abandoned hut. Now she had a name and a face to go with the cold voice in her memory.
But she said none of this. It was too close to her own history, and she could not trust herself to keep the terror out of her voice if she told it. Besides, she did not think the Head Recruiter wanted his subordinates to know that he had murdered his own kin.
If she’d ruffled Turnswallow, he did not show it. But then Hara caught the slight arch of his brow. He must know that she knew, and that she had held back.
He cleared his throat.
“And the healing?”
So she passed the first test.
“I have extensive knowledge of herbs and pain relieving spells. I healed Gideon Falk from a near death poisoning and a vicious animal wound. My powder potion halted infection of the blood. He is now well and it is as if the wound never existed, with minimal pain in the healing process. You can ask Lord Gideon yourself.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re here. You saved his life,”
said Turnswallow, and his shoulders lost some of their stiffness. Perhaps the mystery of her sudden appearance was no longer a cause for suspicion.
“Where were you trained before coming here? I was not aware that Lenwen or Norwen employed Witch Recruiters.”
“The courts do not, but I work privately for hire. If there are strange happenings in a village, I am summoned to deal with it. I have no lord I am beholden to,”
Hara invented wildly, glad none of them were Seers.
“And what do you do with them once you find the malcontents?”
asked Turnswallow with a curious lift to his brows.
He wanted to test her ruthlessness. While she was inventing her own history, she may as well tell him what he wanted to hear.
“I take them to the town magistrate and collect my bounty. Usually, the punishment is spending a week in iron stocks. If they are difficult, I do what I must,”
she said, letting her fingers gently brush a knife at her hip.
Matching smiles turned up each of their lips.
“Anything else?”
she asked, keeping that bored tone. She mustn’t appear too relieved that they were believing her stories.
“Only this: anyone I bring into my group is expected to contribute. Whenever your services are needed, you will be obliged to provide them without question. You may be here for research, but you answer to me.”
This was not ideal, but what choice did Hara have? This was the easiest way to spend hours pouring over their records without suspicion. She would not mind healing any who needed her skill, but using her Sight to track down witches felt disgusting to her. Perhaps it would not come to that if she was quick in her search. She would get the information she needed and then spirit herself away. It might even be useful to spend some time among the Recruiters and learn about their abilities so she would know how to avoid them.
“Very well,”
she said. At her assent, the woman got up from her desk and rifled in a cabinet. She returned with a small crest pin made of ivory and a stone key. Hara took the key and found that the crest depicted an iron spike.
“I have business to attend to. Tamsin, show her what to do,”
said Turnswallow, leaving back through the corridor from where he had entered. Hara watched him leave until he disappeared around the corner, and she fought to control her trembling hands so that Tamsin would not see. Twenty years had passed, and Hara still feared this man almost as much as she feared Commander Falk.
Tamsin was speaking, and Hara fought to bring her thoughts back to the present.
“The key will open the records hall and the armory,”
said Tamsin, leading Hara down a hallway.
“There are gloves you can use to open the armory gate. The records hall is here,”
she finished, unlocking a heavy wooden door.
Hara glanced inside and was met with a blast of chill, dry air that tasted musty. She had to blink several times to adjust to the dim lighting, and soon tall shelves loomed out of the darkness. Glowing yellow lamps created islands of light atop the desks.
The fate of her mother could be somewhere in this room. Hara was careful to make no reaction.
“I imagine you’ll be spending a lot of time in here,”
said Tamsin as they entered the room.
“Our record keeper is named Geremy Flints, and—oh, there he is.”
They rounded a corner and came upon a tiny office tucked into the corner of the room. An elderly man looked up from what he was reading, blinking through the large round eyeglass affixed to his head that gave his eyes a lopsided appearance.
“Mr. Flints, this is Hara, a visiting Recruiter. She is here to do some research by the grace of Lord Gideon.”
“Is that so? And what are you researching, Mistress Hara?”
said Geremy Flints with an eager smile. He had a pleasant, buttery voice that reminded Hara of Gertrude’s husband Gessup back at home.
“Elemental magic.”
she said. She would start here and work her way towards asking about the magic the royals used, then to the capture records. No need to raise suspicions from the start. She had to earn some degree of trust first.
He gave a chuckle that Hara couldn’t help but feel was condescending.
“Well, you’ll have to be more specific. Elemental magic covers a broad host of topics,”
he said. He removed his eyepiece, rubbing the glass on his black robes, and said.
“You see, there are some schools of thought—”
“We just wanted to stop by and make introductions. I must show her the store rooms and the holding cells,”
said Tamsin hurriedly, leading Hara out of the records room. When she closed the doors behind them, she said.
“He’s a rambling old codger. Once you get him going it’s impossible to stop.”
“Is he a sorcerer?”
asked Hara as they made their way down the corridor.
Tamsin scoffed.
“His only magic is his ability to memorize words spoken or written instantly and never forget them. Only good for record keeping and not much else.”
Hara grasped for the unfamiliar term she’d heard the Recruiters use.
“What are your inclinations?”
“Befuddlement and animal linguist, with a Shapeshifting specialty,”
Tamsin said.
“If you need to communicate with animals, come to me.”
“And the other man . . . the tall one?”
asked Hara.
“Dominic? He’s a curse-breaker. He didn’t even need any other inclinations because he’s so useful.”
“Are there any other Recruiters?”
“Yes, there are ten of us in all, but the others are spread throughout the realm at permanent stations,”
said Tamsin.
“I’ve been in this position for six years and I’ve only seen the others a few times, so I’m glad you’re joining us here at court. It will be nice to have another woman around.”
It made Hara uneasy to imagine seven hunters lurking around the mountains, ready to turn in any witch who was not serving Corvus. A twinge of homesickness touched her, and not for the first time, she wondered if it was wise to leave behind the safety of her village.
They stopped by some rooms that held spare uniforms, harnesses, holsters, vials, and all manner of items a Recruiter might need in their line of work. There were a whole host of wicked-looking iron instruments kept in sealed glass displays.
“One of the Recruiters has a ward inclination, so he set up wards around the palace, including these rooms. We know instantly if there are any intruders.”
Tamsin showed her into a larger room that resembled a cross between a scullery and a dining room. Two women sat at the end of a long table with steaming cups before them. One of the women was squat and elderly, worry lines permanently etched between her brows. The other was young and had jet-black hair that fell like a satin curtain down her back.
“This is the canteen. We all take our meals here,”
said Tamsin. She did not elaborate, and Hara guessed it was because magic people were not welcome to dine with the other inhabitants of the palace.
“We share this space with the R-and-D group. Good morning, Lady Sarai, Melietta,”
she said, nodding to the dark-haired woman and the elderly woman in turn.
The two women turned to murmur greetings, and Hara was taken aback.
Sarai was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her black, almond shaped eyes arrested Hara with dark confidence. Tawny freckles formed a delicate constellation over her cheekbones. Somehow, her perfect posture even made her shapeless robes look elegant.
“How do you do?”
said Hara, nodding to each of them.
“Hara has joined as a new Recruiter,”
said Tamsin.
Polite interest touched the womens’ faces.
“Lady Sarai is the head researcher for earth sciences and Melietta is her partnered sorcerer,”
said Tamsin. At Hara’s curious look, she added.
“Some researchers are paired with a sorcerer to help them in their work.”
“Oh,”
said Hara. She smiled politely at Melietta.
“I’m happy to meet another witch. What is your inclination?”
“Magnetic metals. I can create them and act as a magnet myself,”
said the old woman, taking a sip of her hot drink. The woman’s hands were warped and rough with dried blisters, as though she had been burned and healed many times.
“And you?”
Sarai asked Hara.
“I am a Seer and a healer,”
said Hara.
“Ah, Turnswallow must love that.”
Sarai sighed.
“But I keep hoping an alchemist will show up one day. It would make my job so much easier.”
Hara gave a nervous laugh, perhaps a little too loudly.
“What are you working on?”
“Right now, I am trying to create metals synthetically so that mining can be made obsolete,”
said Sarai, bringing her cup to her lips and watching Hara over the rim. It seemed as though she was bracing herself for Hara’s reaction.
“How fascinating,”
said Hara, hoping that her tone was one of polite interest and nothing more.
“Are you close?”
“Well, we’ve found a way to grow magnetic metals. The problem is we need to test it on precious metals, and I’m not able to get my hands on them.”
Hara could see why. Who would be willing to sacrifice the yield from their gold mines for research? Especially research that could put them out of business. She sensed that this was something Sarai could spend hours talking about.
“I gather that this is a sore spot.” she said.
Sarai gave a defeated sigh.
“Is my frustration that obvious?”
“We must continue with the tour,”
said Tamsin, opening the door.
“Good to see you both.”
They left the canteen and returned to the Recruiter area, where they entered a creaking wooden lift. With a jolt, it began to descend.
“Down here is where we keep the wretches,”
Tamsin said with a sly smile.
The lift opened to a long, featureless hallway. The walls were rough stone, and water was actually dripping from a dark corner. At the very end of the hall, Tamsin took up a lamp that stood ready in a brazier and descended some winding stone stairs. Hara could see nothing but darkness after the first five or six steps.
“Brace yourself, it’s not pleasant down here,”
said Tamsin.
The air grew chill and the darkness became suffocating as they made their way down. The only light came from the lantern Tamsin held. Presently Hara became aware of a strange burning sensation that prickled over her face and throat, and every instinct was telling her she did not want to go further.
The ground leveled out, and Hara could hear distinct weeping. Her feeling of foreboding grew as she realized they were passing iron bars, and the odd burning sensation was made clear. Though she was not as sensitive to metals as other witches, she could still feel the prickling heat of them as they passed. She imagined that Tamsin was even more uncomfortable.
“These are the holding cells where we keep rogue witches who refuse to come into the service of the Emperitor,”
said Tamsin, her voice too loud for the small dark space. In the faint lantern light, Hara could make out the figure of a woman slumped against the wall of one of the cells, weeping piteously into her hands. Her stomach clenched as she realized the woman was naked, and there was not a scrap of fabric or furniture to give comfort in the small space. The woman’s hair was loose and tangled, and she did not uncover her face when the light shone into her cell.
Hara noticed there were no locks on the iron gates. No need, when a touch on bare skin caused burns and blisters as though the bars were red hot.
There were no other witches in the cells, and Tamsin turned them around and led Hara hastily back the way they came.
As they entered the lift, Tamsin turned to her with a smug smile.
“Are you shocked?”
“What was that woman’s crime?”
Hara asked, keeping her voice low so that it would not tremble.
“She was selling ever-growing seeds for crops. You harvest the field, and by next season, it would be ready to harvest again, no matter the weather. There are a select few farmers with contracts to supply grain to the citizens, and her invention caused them to miss out on revenue.”
“And that is a punishable offense?”
asked Hara, barely keeping the outrage from her voice. She remembered Gideon mentioning that Montag had a problem with their crop yields. It seemed that problem was in no small part caused by the hold these few farmers had on the rest of the country.
“It was enough for the farmers to lodge a complaint. We aren’t punishing her for her invention—in fact, we offered her a place here at court as an assistant to the farmers who complained. They would love to get their hands on her magic seeds. But she refused to work with them, and all witches who refuse to cooperate are considered a threat to the Emperitor. That is why she is being held.”
“What will happen to her?”
asked Hara.
“Will she remain down there?”
“We will persuade her,”
said Tamsin.
“I’ve never seen anyone refuse for long.”
Torture. Hara stole a glance at the slender young woman who strode beside her. She thought of the friendly way Tamsin had chatted to Hara, as though she was pleased to have a new friend. Hara had almost been lulled into thinking the woman was sweet.
When they reached the main workroom, Tamsin took a record of Hara’s fingerprints, collected her breath in a vial, and gave her a curious black bead to wear behind her ear.
“Your fingerprints and your breath are to bypass the wards so you can access any protected rooms and materials in the palace. The bead is so you can hear us.”
Tamsin pressed behind her ear and said.
“See? We’re able to hear every Recruiter no matter where they are in the realm.”
Her voice rang in Hara’s ear as though she had spoken directly into it.
“It will also sting if an intruder triggers the wards.”
Hara massaged around the bead. It was rather unpleasant already, and she wondered how long it would take before she got used to it.
Used to it.
Hara suddenly felt confined and uncomfortable, as though she needed to climb out of her own skin. Giving up the intimate signatures of her body felt as though they were capturing her very essence. She couldn’t dispel the image of the Planter witch, naked and weeping, down there in the dark. It was all an act, but joining this group and seeing first hand what she was expected to take part in felt all too real.
“I’ll report back tomorrow to begin my research,”
she said, and without a backward glance, she left the Recruiters’ quarters.
She walked quickly down the corridor, and when she reached the main stairs she leaned back against the wall, concentrating on the cool, unyielding pressure against her back.
As she worked on tamping down the nauseous feeling in the back of her throat, a new realization slammed into her, stopping her breath. All the records in the palace could not match the detail of a memory. Turnswallow himself might hold the key to her mother’s whereabouts. If she looked into Turnswallow’s memories after her mother’s capture, perhaps she could learn the truth.
Gideon
By mid-afternoon, Gideon was seething. He’d been rudely awoken by his manservant Tobin telling him that some lawmen were asking to see him. Groggily, he had risen from bed and gone all the way to the city gates to meet them, the night mist not yet cleared from the valley. He wondered if there had been an accident at one of the factories and was genuinely panicked, only to be met with Norwen lawmen who had tracked him down for stealing from the old miser in the secondhand shop.
They were full of aggravated blusterings an.
“now see here!”s, but Gideon quickly dispatched them by giving them each a small purse of gold. The rumblings stopped and they left, taking their hats off to bow to him as they went. Gideon rolled his eyes and chastised Tobin to never wake him before dawn again to answer to a petty bit of thievery.
He was on his way to his rooms to change into something more becoming than a nightshirt and trousers when his mother’s chatelaine caught up with him. The elderly woman smiled sweetly and impressed upon him how dearly his mother wished to see him that morning.
With a bite of frustration, he doubled back his steps. He had planned to spend the morning with Hara to make sure she was comfortable in her accommodations and perhaps introduce her to some helpful persons at court, but those plans would have to wait.
Why did he feel like a nursemaid fretting over his charge? Surely no harm had come to Hara in the space of a night, and he was back at home. He should be out making his presence known in the city, visiting the gambling hells and the salons of his admirers. Instead his mind kept being pulled to the room at the end of the guest wing, wondering how Hara had slept and if her breakfast was to her liking. He even found himself pondering if he should install a box of sand in the garderobe for the blasted cat.
She did not know it, but Gideon was at her beck and call. It irritated him, this feeling of being beholden to someone. And it irritated him most of all that a small part of him liked it. He secretly craved the moments when her indifferent mask slipped, when she looked at him with humor and trust and he could bask in the warmth of her gaze.
No, he wanted more than that.
He wanted her passion. He wanted her approval and her delight and even her rage. He wanted more of the woman he had glimpsed that night after they’d been thrown out of the inn. And he had no right to it. It made him burn to think that she bestowed more favor on simple dolts like Samwell Thorn than she would ever give to him. He’d never had to chase a woman before, and it was dreadful. Why did her affection come so easily for others and so reluctantly for him?
Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose as he entered the sunny passage where his mother’s chambers were located. He’d slept terribly, and what little rest he had gotten was fraught with dreams of Hara coming apart on his fingers. Except this time they did not stop, and he woke in the dark sweating through his bedclothes and hard as a steel rail.
The restless craving for violence on the road was now clear to him. It wasn’t a fight he wanted.
He wanted her.
It felt curiously similar, the heated frenzy under his skin begging for an outlet. Part of him wondered if he just needed to bed her and have it over with. To sate his curiosity at the very least, for that was all it was: lust and curiosity. There was nothing to suggest that their personalities would suit. His bizarre need to please her was nothing more than a side effect of his desire to bed her.
When he laid it out this way it made sense, and he felt that he had grasped hold of the reins once more. Fantasies were more intoxicating than the real thing, and Gideon always lost interest in the hunt once the quarry was caught. To break the madness he had to break the fantasy.
But now was not the time to entertain visions of Hara’s legs over his shoulders. He quickly schooled his thoughts as he turned around a corner and strode into his mother’s suite.
“You could see your father before you had even beat the dust out of your clothes, but your mother must wait? When were you planning on seeing me, Gideon—next solstice?”
said Eleanora Falk. The scoldings were tumbling from her lips before he even entered the room.
Gideon groaned and collapsed onto a delicate sofa in his mother’s receiving room, his legs hanging over the edge. All he wanted was to go back to sleep, but between the miniscule sofa, the lurid pink walls of the room, and his mother’s nagging voice, that dream was quashed.
“Please, I’ve been sleeping on straw ticks and at inns without running water for months. I don’t need more prickles in my side,”
he said from underneath the hand that was draped across the bridge of his nose.
“And I hear you arrived with a girl,”
said his mother, her tone changing from whining to sweet in a moment.
“Your father said she was quite comely.”
“Oh, I meant to tell you. She is my lady wife and we were married a fortnight ago in a monk’s hovel,”
said Gideon.
“It was a very dull affair. No guests, very shabby.”
His mother let out a surly little scoff, and he grinned at her. He knew it was not the thought of a secret marriage that upset her, but the idea that it might be drab. Her ermine-trimmed robe was a plush frame for her scowl. A maidservant set a tray of breakfast items before them, and Gideon sat up.
“Well? What’s her name? Who is she?”
his mother questioned.
“Her name is Hara, and she is a Witch Recruiter. She saved my life,”
Gideon said.
His mother looked up from her teacup mid-sip. The corners of her mouth pulled down in a disapproving frown.
“She’s a witch? Oh, Gideon . . .”
He spent the next several minutes dissuading the uneasy expression on his mother’s face by describing his ordeal and how thoroughly Hara had tended to his injuries. He emphasized how close he had been to death’s door between bites of toast, and as he spoke, his mother’s jaw dropped and her brows rose higher and higher.
“Well, there is only one thing for it. We must have a celebration. For your homecoming, yes, but also to honor the woman who saved your life!” she said.
“I do adore your little parties, Mother,”
he said, helping himself to a strawberry cake. He expected something like this; Eleanora Falk took any opportunity to orchestrate lavish social functions.
“But Hara has just arrived at court; I’m not sure if she would be comfortable being the center of attention.”
“Nonsense, my love. Her manners could be that of a she-bear and I would welcome her proudly.”
“And father?”
He did not want his father to think this had been Gideon’s idea. The warning to remain discreet plucked at his nerves.
“Oh tosh, he cannot complain. It would be good for his public image to host a witch as our guest of honor. Where is she now?”
“I put her in the Waterfall Room.”
It was one of the grandest rooms of the east wing, reserved for visiting royalty.
He could see her ready to chastise him on his poor choices as a host, but her protests stopped short.
“Oh yes, well that room is quite splendid.”
She took another sip of tea and eyed him shrewdly.
“You must think very highly of her, indeed.”
“I do,”
he said, and he quickly spoke up as he saw the knowing smile curl her lips.
“I am deeply indebted to her, and I have offered her a position here at court.”
“Naturally,”
said his mother.
“What other adventures have you had? You were gone for an obscenely long time, my love.”
By the time he had satisfied his mother’s need for conversation, the sun was high, and he was relieved to finally be able to go to his rooms and change into something resembling a lord.
The dark hair wasn’t so bad, he thought as he made final adjustments in his gilded looking glass.
After he spent several minutes brushing a lock of hair to fall just so over his brow, he realized what he was doing and strode purposefully from the room. It wasn’t as though he wished Hara to notice that he looked considerably more dashing in fresh clothing and a shave. Even if he did.
When he arrived at Hara’s door, he gave a soft knock.
“Yes?”
he heard her muffled voice respond.
“It’s me,” he said.
The door swung open, and Gideon’s breath caught at the sight of her. She wore a dressing robe over her witch hunter disguise, but it was left open at the front. Her black leather trousers left little to the imagination as they clung tightly across her thighs.
Gods above. Those wool skirts had been hiding such glorious wanking fodder.
Somehow, he found the willpower to snap his eyes away.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting this morning without word. I was accosted by some Norwen lawmen, and then I was waylaid by my mother’s summons,”
he said as he entered the room.
A short maid was laying out some covered dishes on the table by the window. She looked up at his entrance and clattered the teacup setup, blushing furiously. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for women to lose their wits around him, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It wouldn’t do to have gossipy little maids telling everyone that he was visiting Hara in private.
With a quick-mumbled apology, she dipped a curtsy and fled from the room, shooting Hara an embarrassed grin before she closed the door. He frowned. He would have to task Tobin to find out the maid’s name and keep watch over her. Every servant in his father’s household should be expected to spy for him.
“Are you aware of the effect you have on women?”
asked Hara as she sat at her table.
“You do tend to fluster them so.”
“That’s not fair,”
said Gideon.
“I fluster the men, too.”
Hara gestured to the table, inviting him to sit.
“I can ask for more.”
“No need,”
he said, going to the table and taking one of the seats.
“I don’t want anyone in the kitchens gossiping about how we are dining in private together. It will be sure to get back to my mother, and I don’t want her to get any more encouragement.”
Not to mention his father.
“What do you mean?”
said Hara.
“I spent the morning singing your praises, and now she wants to hold a homecoming celebration with you as the guest of honor. She’s absurdly taken with you.”
“Oh,”
said Hara with mild surprise.
“I wouldn’t think she would . . . well, that is very kind of her, but I didn’t bring anything that would be suitable for a ball. Do you know where I can find a gown?”
“I would not take the treat of gown shopping with you away from her,”
he said, watching as she began to eat the pale parsnip soup and roast game hen that had been hidden under silver covers. A thought occurred to him.
“I suppose the silver doesn’t bother you, but the kitchen staff do not know that. They should not have been so careless.”
“It doesn’t matter. As you said, it’s not a bother.”
“It does matter. As my guest, you should be treated as they would treat me, with every comfort in mind.”
“I doubt they have any other plateware, Gideon,”
she said.
“My chambermaid said they don’t entertain sorcerers in this area of the palace.”
Gideon frowned. She was probably right, but he had never thought of it before.
“What did the lawmen want?”
asked Hara.
“Recompense for robbing that shopkeeper.”
Hara’s eyes were wide.
“I don’t know how you talked your way out of that. Why aren’t you in a jail cell in Norwen right now?”
“I paid them off, and they left quick as anything,”
he said with a wave of his hand.
“You paid them . . . but you didn’t give back the money we took?”
“No. But thinking about it, it probably amounts to the same thing.”
“So, what happened here is that we robbed the man, and the lawmen benefitted,” she said.
Gideon chuckled.
“I suppose you could think of it that way. But that’s the way it goes. Corrupt to the man, every one of them. What of it?”
“Nothing. It’s just very interesting. The power that is in money.”
“The greatest power of all,”
said Gideon, toying with a fork. He gave her a sardonic smile.
“That makes you the most powerful sorcerer of all.”
Hara chewed slowly. The sun illuminated the different tones of chestnut and sable in her hair. He imagined how soft the skin just under her jaw would feel on his lips. Had she always been so achingly lovely, even back in the cottage? What he wouldn’t give to have spent the night in here instead.
“I’m sorry to have left you alone in here all morning. I hope you weren’t too bored,” he said.
“I wasn’t bored. I sought out the Head Witch Recruiter and I have been made a part of their ranks.”
If he had been drinking from the teacup, he would have spat it out.
“You did what?”
“Should I not have?”
said Hara, worry touching her eyes.
“I was very careful with how I spoke so as not to give anything away.”
“No, I just—I have never even met the Head Recruiter,”
said Gideon.
“How did you manage it?”
Hara told him of her trials before the Recruiters agreed she could be admitted to the office and gain access to the records.
This was better than he could have planned for. Turnswallow had a reputation for keeping his group to themselves. Despite working closely under Gideon’s father, Turnswallow had never attended a banquet or a cotillion with the other senior officials.
On the road Gideon entertained the idea of pulling strings with his father to secure Hara’s place among the Recruiters, or else to give her special access to their records, but those plans were bound to come with many grumblings and bribes. It had not crossed his mind that Hara could gain their trust legitimately, mainly because he thought she would be frightened and reluctant.
A new sense of admiration touched him as he watched her slurp her soup. He’d been fretting all morning that she would need his company before she felt comfortable roaming the palace on her own, but that did not seem to be the case.
“Are you certain you don’t need my help with the Recruiters?”
said Gideon.
Hara shook her head.
“It would be strange if you were seen helping me with my research, especially if you’ve never shown an interest in magic before. I think it’s best if we act as though there is nothing between us but gratitude. We should play our parts in public and meet in secret when we can.”
He knew she was right, but her matter-of-fact tone made him sulk inwardly. Which was nonsense. He kept his features smooth.
“While you search the Recruiters’ records, I will find out if my father’s seneschals have any records in their keeping,”
said Gideon.
“Perhaps even the library could have some helpful material. There are certainly books about the overthrow of the Ilmarinen. We can see if anything is mentioned about what happened to members of their court afterward.”
“That may not even be necessary,”
said Hara, and her eyes were large and bright.
“Gideon, Markus Turnswallow was the one who took her. I saw her in his memory.”
“What?”
Gideon breathed. Having never met the man, he knew almost nothing about him or how long he’d been in his father’s employ.
“So then look now! You looked into my past when you were out in the woods far away from my bedside.”
Hara was shaking her head.
“I tried—I’ve been trying all afternoon. Since our relationship is so new and tenuous, I have no control over what I See. It’s very murky, and I suspect he has trained his mental shields to protect Corvus’ secrets.”
“Can you See anything at all?”
“I keep Seeing snow, blinding white snow on a mountain. There is a plummeting sensation, as though he is falling from a great height. And then he is standing in the snow again as if nothing has happened. And it repeats over and over. This is the memory that keeps surfacing every time I look.”
“Perhaps he meddled with it somehow. It seems we need to do some research on Sight and memory,”
said Gideon thoughtfully. To his surprise, Hara laughed.
“What is it?”
“It’s just a bit ironic. My mother was the greatest Seer in living memory. She would be the expert on such a matter.”
Gideon smiled.
“Perhaps she left some material in the library. And in the meantime, we will see if it is possible to tamper with a memory.”