Chapter 15 Seren
Chapter fifteen
Seren
Asmall cottage rested at the edge of the rising treeline to the east. It was built of uneven stone with a wide, wooden door inlaid with iron. A chimney rose from the gabled roof, blackened with the soot of fires long past.
Wooden stables—hardly large enough for Quin and her tack—sat beside the cottage, and Harkin urged the mare toward it. We dismounted, bumping into each other in the crowded dark. Harkin muttered an apology, but I brushed him off, shoving past him.
I emerged into the clearing, having left Harkin to manage his horse while I admired the scenery surrounding me.
The trees were tall and thick—as I had grown accustomed to since entering the Varázis Erva—but their bark painted a vivid picture of browns and reds and whites.
Some had leaves of green and gold while others shimmered dark red in the setting sun.
I had never seen such an abundance of tree species, let alone in a single grove.
I had never seen anything so beautiful in Ordelés.
Plush grass softened my steps as I meandered, and I had half a mind to discard my boots, to feel the softness against my bare feet.
Harkin interrupted my quiet perusal as he quit the stable. He pushed open the broad front door, motioning me inside the dark cottage. “Come inside, Seren. You’re of no use to me frozen through.”
“I will be of no use to you, regardless, as I am not a thing for you to use,” I hissed, eyes narrowed.
“That was in poor taste. I apologize.” He raised his hands in defeat. “Will you please come inside?”
I complied, cautiously, eyes scanning for anything that might leap at me from the shadows. My heart thundered, overloud. When I was satisfied with my search, I crossed the threshold and moved deeper into the room.
Harkin pulled the door closed behind us, the hinges letting out the barest squeak.
The sun was setting, and the meager light which trickled in through the dust painted windows did little to brighten the space. Harkin made quick work of the candles scattered about, lighting them with a box of matches he retrieved from the hearth.
He loaded the stone fixture with split wood, dry and splintering. Harkin placed kindling in the gaps. As he coaxed the flame to catch, his hand raised—fingers twitching—and he summoned the smallest wisp of air.
Golden-orange bathed the room, glowing as the fire roared to life. Burning candles about the room flickered and flared, driving out the lingering shadows, and I could see my surroundings properly for the first time.
“What is this place?” I asked, inching further from him with every measured breath.
“An old hunting cabin. It’s been vacant for some time now.” Harkin leaned against the settee. It sat in front of the fireplace, pulled close as if someone had once slept on it beside the comfort of the hearth. It looked dusty with disuse but comfortable enough.
“And, what? Am I the prey now? Snared and brought back for the slaughter?” I turned away from him, unable to watch the flames flicker across his face without wishing I could light him ablaze.
“I told you, I only want to help you.” The worst part was how truly believable he sounded. Too bad, every word from his mouth was a pretty, pretty lie.
I shook my head slowly, surely. “I don’t believe you.”
My hip struck the edge of the table, hardly large enough for two. I had reached the far end of the cabin and found myself in the semblance of a kitchen. The table and a wood burning stove took up most of the space. A cooking cauldron and tea kettle sat abandoned on the counter.
My eyes lingered on the cauldron for a moment too long.
“Are you hungry?” Harkin asked, as he followed my gaze.
“No,” I attempted, but the growl of my aching stomach betrayed me. Traitor.
“I’ll take care of supper,” Harkin offered, hiding a smile behind his hand.
While Harkin worked, I inspected the rest of the cottage. A bedchamber lay beyond the lone doorway, with only a small bed and a single wardrobe. A stone bathing tub—intricately carved with clawed feet—was positioned in the corner near the fireplace, a curtain drawn around it for privacy.
I noted a disturbing lack of proper weaponry. I would have to make due with my sword and the small collection of daggers strapped to my person. Perhaps the kettle would do, in a pinch.
A plume of dust rose around me as I melted into the settee. I sputtered and sneezed, relenting to stare into the licking flames. Tomorrow, I decided, as the weariness settled into my bones. Tomorrow, I would begin planning my escape.
Harkin returned, a pair of rabbits in one hand and a surprising array of vegetables in the other. He prepared a stew which—to my dismay—smelled divine.
I hated to enjoy anything he offered, but my hunger won out in the end. I devoured bowl after bowl until I was sated and sleepy, my tongue greasy with fat and spices.
“Your training will begin tomorrow. I’ll teach you how to wield your mágik.
You don’t have to be powerless anymore, Seren.
” Harkin explained his plan for the following day so simply, as if he truly believed I would participate.
His voice and demeanor remained fixed in a perpetually positive and placating tone.
He was delusional.
I was struck again by how odd it was that his personality seemed to change at any given moment. It was unnerving, and I knew to heed the warning in my gut.
Harkin was not to be trusted.