Chapter III.24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Two Days Before the Wedding, Continued
Her verbal triumph did not carry Miria for long. She’d scarcely cleared the town walls when the air filled with unsettling shrieks. She landed on the nearest tree and turned to witness the sky filling with black shadows, and a chill ran down her spine.
Winged like ravens but so much larger, the shadows circled the town, their cries a desperate, haunting sound that drowned out every other noise.
Then, as one, they swooped down, vanishing from Miria’s line of sight but not from the world.
She heard the townsfolk yelling in fear, doors and shutters slamming.
These were the creatures the farmer’s son had seen coming for him, the ones who took the children’s blood for Rosmilda’s magic. Miria was positive.
That meant this was her fault. Although she’d promised herself she would not provoke Rosmilda into using more magic, she’d done it anyway.
She should have gone along with Rosmilda’s offer, pretended to consider it and buy some time.
But she was as arrogant as the other woman had insisted, and her refusal must have made Rosmilda feel threatened, and so she was gathering her resources, just as Miria had been planning on doing.
Miria swore to herself, thinking of all the children in trouble right now.
The parchment with their blood sat in her satchel, worthless in the moment.
Tomorrow, maybe, she could use it to find Rosmilda’s victims and cast the protective spells that would free them from Rosmilda’s clutches.
But promises to protect those children tomorrow did nothing to help the ones whose magic was being drawn upon today.
Even if she flew back immediately and confronted Rosmilda, it would be pointless.
Most likely, Rosmilda’s magical thieves would be gone by the time she got there.
Already, the yelling in town was dying down.
Miria could guess the threat was literally vanishing before people’s eyes.
Adaline would have known better. As brash and reckless as she was, Adaline was better skilled at dealing with people. A lady had to be. A witch did not.
Witches stayed in their woods or their bogs; they kept to their hollows and caves or the lonely windswept moors where it was safe.
They did their work from afar. Miria was growing less and less certain that was as wise as they claimed.
If she’d been in town more all these years or had taken a more active interest in the lives of those who lived around her, she might have assembled the pieces of Rosmilda’s puzzle sooner.
With that greater familiarity, some people might have been less inclined to blame her for it.
Not all, certainly. People were always in need of a scapegoat, and anyone who was different, for whatever reason, made for a handy one.
That was the risk in being known, but was it any more of a risk than what she’d been doing?
Miria didn’t know yet, but her lack of knowing how to work with people was a weakness she vowed to correct.
When she made it back to the cottage, she found Adaline rolling dough. Flour coated her arms and face, which were shiny with sweat, and she wore an expression of grim determination.
Adaline looked up as Miria closed the door.
“I went hunting for rabbits for our dinner, but then I didn’t know how to prepare them because someone else had always done that part when I went hunting back home, so Tuli did it, and they’re roasting in the oven out back.
And then Tuli showed me how to make pastry dough so I’m—” She cut off as though suddenly remembering why Miria had left. “What happened? Where are the girls?”
Miria let the questions hang for a moment as she tried to take everything in. “Tuli showed you how to make dough?” When in the world had her golem ever learned that, and how was it that he was teaching Adaline these things?
“He doesn’t normally cook for you?” Adaline asked.
“No. He doesn’t eat so it never seemed right to ask him to help unless I needed his strength for a task.”
Adaline’s bit her lip. “Should I not have asked? Although he did kind of volunteer.”
Miria set down her satchel, amazed at how Adaline could keep making her smile under any circumstances. “I do not think you could make Tuli do something he doesn’t want to. Only I have the power to do that, and I hope I never use it. Although, my nana would say a golem doesn’t want anything, so …”
She let the thought trail off, recalling Rosmilda’s admonishment about Miria wanting things. Not that Rosmilda had meant it as an admonishment. More like a compliment, probably.
It didn’t bother Miria to want. Rosmilda’s view of witches was as twisted as her views of everything else.
How many times had Yali warned her about expending too much magic helping people?
About protecting herself? No, witches weren’t supposed to be self-sacrificing to the degree Rosmilda had implied, and they were not immune from normal human desires, nor were they expected to be.
But the reminder refocused Miria’s attention on the most pressing matters, which unfortunately did not involve Adaline’s burgeoning culinary skills nor Tuli’s surprising knowledge of pie-baking.
Adaline’s rolling of the dough took on a bit of extra force as Miria recounted what had transpired.
“So you didn’t find your sisters, and Rosmilda has bespelled my family.
That was probably a waste of her magic. My family wants your family’s money.
I’m sure they’d go along with Rosmilda’s schemes just fine of their own accord.
As for your sisters …” Her anger melted into an expression of concern.
Miria shared it, and tried—again—to take some comfort from the knowledge that Rosmilda meant good things for her daughters in the future.
In the meantime, it was the town’s children who were in particular danger.
“Your family may not be as keen on Rosmilda’s and my father’s tactics as you think.
People fear magic as much as they crave it. ”
“I know.” Adaline ran her flour-coated fingers through the stray hairs lining her face, turning them white. “I’m speaking from frustration.”
“I know the feeling well.” She brushed the flour from Adaline’s hair, letting the other woman’s closeness soothe her aching heart.
She wanted a moment, nothing more, to kiss the flour off Adaline’s lips, run fingers over her bare skin, make the most of every moment they were finally together again.
But every moment she entertained such luxuries was a moment she could be working to lengthen Adaline’s company. It was a cruel dilemma.
“Miri.” Adaline murmured her name as she kissed Miria back, and Miria floated beyond the confines of her body, overwhelmed with the sensation of Adaline’s fingers drifting lazily down her hip.
She stumbled backward into the table, and her hand collided with something hard. Her family’s saltcellar.
Her body burning with more want (you see, Rosmilda—so much wanting), Miria pulled away. Her body and her brain needed two different outlets, and her brain was winning this battle.
“Rosmilda is preparing for something,” Miria said, turning away so she didn’t see her own unfulfilled desires reflected on Adaline’s face.
“I can’t hold off your uncle’s entire guard and whatever mischief she has in store forever, and if I’m going to work protective spells on the children I found, I need to be even more cautious about how I spend my energy.
But if I scry on Rosmilda directly, I might figure out what she plans and direct my defenses most effectively. ”
“Sensible,” Adaline said with a frown. “Not as fun as kissing you, but I suppose we should be practical now to allow time for more enjoyable pursuits later.”
Miria nodded. She would hold that promise close to her chest and hope she was not too tired later to follow through.
While Adaline went back to making her pie, Miria retrieved the scrying bowl and got to work. The saltcellar was a direct connection to Rosmilda and to her father. A more personal object would have been better, but it was a valuable item, and its worth to them would count for something magically.
She thought so anyway, but after several minutes of trying to spy on Rosmilda or her father, all Miria had was a headache. She collapsed onto the bench and rubbed her temples.
“Are you all right?” Adaline darted over and clasped her hands. “Has she done something else to you?”
“I’m fine.” Miria extricated herself from Adaline’s grip and poked a finger in the bowl of water in frustration. “She must be blocking me. All is see is darkness, like a door has been slammed shut.”
“She can do that?”
“Oh, yes. She’s quite skilled for someone with no power of her own. I thought the saltcellar would be enough to find her, and it is, but its connection to her and my father isn’t strong enough to overpower whatever spell she cast.”
Frowning, Miria plucked a strawberry from the bowl Adaline had gathered earlier. It was perfectly ripe, and red juice rolled down her fingers as she withdrew them from her mouth.
“Blood.” Miria sat up straighter and wiped away the juice. “That will have to work.”
Adaline watched in alarm as Miria cleaned her knife and pierced the fleshy pad below her thumb. A single crimson drop splashed into the scrying bowl, and Miria placed a clean cloth over palm to staunch the bleeding.
“Blood ties me to my father and brother,” she explained, seeing Adaline’s worried expression.
“It’s possible Rosmilda could still block me, but the connection is so powerful, I doubt she’s capable.
I won’t be able to find her this way, but I can scry on my father, and perhaps through him I’ll find her. ”
Adaline nodded and picked up the strawberries. “I suppose it’s too bad you didn’t think of that before you went to find your sisters.”