Chapter 10
Rowan went about her chores trying to ignore the witch hunter who sat brooding in the corner of the room, unhappy at being forced to wait.
She helped her mother make more yarrow salve.
The familiar task should have soothed her rattled nerves, but she couldn’t seem to relax under the witch hunter’s watchful eyes.
She hauled water, cleaned bandages, and added some of their meager stores to a pot to simmer for soup.
When George returned from Sulen, she rushed out, never so happy to see him. He was riding a horse that should have had him home hours ago. She took one look at his flushed face and scowled at him. “You’ve been drinking.”
He nearly fell off the horse. “Just a little light refreshment before the long ride home. Do you like my new horse?”
He patted the beast on its shoulder. The horse gave him a scornful curl of his lip before twitching free of George’s hand.
“Your horse?”
“The priest gave it to me.”
“Lent it to you,” she corrected.
She tied the horse to the post as George stumbled to the door.
“He didn’t tell me when I had to bring it back. He gave me coin too, to speed my travel.”
Coin that George had promptly converted to drink, judging by the smell of him.
Rowan rolled her eyes as she followed him inside.
The witch hunter came to his feet at once, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he crossed the room in two quick strides.
He was too big for their small home, making the space feel cramped and tight.
It was almost hard to breathe with him there.
He snatched the letter from George’s hand and turned to pace to the window as he opened it. Light from the setting sun spilled through the warped glass. He read quickly, his expression revealing nothing, but when he got to the end, he cursed and crumpled the letter in his hand.
She leaned against the doorframe. “Bad news?”
“The priest sent a rider to the capital for reinforcements.”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“It will take even a fast rider several days to reach the capital. If there’s a patrol ready to ride out immediately, it will take another week for reinforcements to arrive.
Two weeks at least before anyone will reach us.
I asked for volunteers from Sulen to go into the woods to help me track my men.
The priest says there’s no help to be found. ”
She could have told him that. No one from Sulen would risk their neck going into the woods. They were all farmers and merchants and craftsmen. What were they going to do against a witch?
The captain turned on George. “Are there any able-bodied men in Toam who would be willing to help? They would be very well compensated.”
George’s brow wrinkled. “You mean go into the woods?”
“Yes.” A muscle leapt in the witch hunter’s jaw. “My men don’t have two weeks. They need help now.”
“If they’re alive at all,” she said.
The witch hunter cut her a scalding look before returning his attention to George.
“There’s no one I can think of,” George said, scratching his patchy beard.
“Most of the men moved on after that flood last spring. There was never much work here to begin with. No point in rebuilding the houses that were lost.” He heaved a sigh.
“I would offer to help you myself, but I’ve got that problem with my back, you see. ”
The captain’s scornful expression suggested he saw perfectly well.
“But speaking of payment,” George continued, holding out his hand. “I’ll take that twenty cord you offered and be on my way now. I have to get home to help tend my ailing mother.”
Twenty cord? That was a full year’s wages for George. The witch hunter moved to his bags and rummaged around. He was moving better, though he still favored his right side a bit. Another few days and he’d be well enough to travel to Sulen to wait for his reinforcements.
She sidled up to George. “Does Tilly know how much he’s paying you?”
“She doesn’t need to know anything about it,” he muttered sourly, not looking at her at all. He was watching the witch hunter, noting exactly which pocket he stored his money in and the size of the bag he pulled out.
She stepped in front of him to block his view. “But George,” she said sweetly. “Think of how glad your poor ailing mother will be to see how you provide for her.”
Tilly had been supporting the both of them with her sales of charms and potions for years now. She deserved a cut of George’s pay.
George took a menacing step towards her.
She lifted her chin and held her ground.
He wouldn’t actually take a swing at her.
Surely he remembered what happened last time he’d tried it.
She’d spiked his drink and he’d spent the next week in the outhouse.
And then Tilly had kicked him out of the house for a month after. He wouldn’t do it again.
The witch hunter turned, pausing as he took in the confrontation. His eyes narrowed as he moved forward, nudging her aside and stepping between her and George as he slapped two coins into George’s meaty palm.
“Thank you for your assistance,” he said tightly. “I’ll let you know if I have any further need of your services.”
George wiped his face of any animosity and bobbed his head.
He showed himself out. Probably on his way down to Rina’s.
She should go tell Tilly about the windfall before he managed to spend it all, but she had problems of her own at the moment.
Her biggest problem was currently frowning at her as if she were the one scaring off volunteers.
Her mother patted the witch hunter soothingly on the shoulder and moved past him to start the tea. Tea was her solution to most of life’s disappointments.
Rowan moved to the table, hooked the stool with her foot, and sat down to quarter the apple she’d found that afternoon on one of the trees behind the village.
“You overpaid him,” she said to the witch hunter. “He’d have done it for half that.”
“I needed him motivated.” He frowned. “He smelled like liquor.”
She slid a slice of apple into her mouth. The witch hunter tracked the movement, his gaze lingering on her lips. Maybe he was hungry. He ate like a hog. She offered him the next slice when he sat across from her at the table, but he waved it off.
Chewing slowly, she took in his crestfallen expression. “You really think your men are still alive?”
“I hope so.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
It didn’t even really mess it up. “Witches distort the natural world around them. It makes it easy to get lost even when you know the land well. Once we were separated, they may not have been able to find their way back. It doesn’t mean they’re dead. ”
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that as much as her.
“You’re certain there’s a witch though?”
She really wanted him to say no.
“How can you doubt it?” Casrian searched her face.
She sliced another chunk of apple. “I admit the woods have changed. When we first got here, the water was clear and the trees were healthy. We didn’t get any dangerous animals on this side of the river unless the winter was particularly bad.
You could walk for days without any trouble at all.
It’s not like that anymore. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a witch, does it? ”
“What else?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
He waved a hand at the dark line of trees out the window. “It’s a witch. The woods. The familiar. My missing men. You can taste the rot in the air. Feel it on your skin. If you can’t sense it, it means you’ve been steeping in it too long already.”
A shiver ran down her spine. She sensed it. She’d been sensing it for months. And telling herself it wasn’t real.
“If you can’t find anyone to go with you, what will you do?”
“I’ll find someone.”
She shook her head. “There are a lot of idiots in Toam, but no one’s that stupid.”
“How well do you know the woods?”
She glared at him. “I’m not going with you.”
“Of course not. You’re a woman.”
Asshole.
“I just need information. You say the woods have changed. When did it begin? Where did it start? Are there any shelters, like a large cave or an abandoned building, where a witch might make a nest?”
“A nest?”
“A home. A base. They’re demons, but they wear the skin of human women. They still need shelter.”
Her blood went cold. Because of the horrific image his words conjured. And because she did actually know of a place like that. “There’s a fort.”
His attention locked on her. Bright blue eyes fixed on her face. It felt like looking down the shaft of an arrow.
“What fort?”
She considered telling him to fuck off, just on the principle of the thing, but she needed to know what was wrong with the woods. Whether it was safe to stay. Whether they should start running now. She figured she could be civil for a little while longer.
“When we moved here, there was a story people liked to tell over drinks and campfires about an abandoned fort in the woods on the old trade route to Caetris. Rumor said it was haunted and filled with fae treasure. I asked everyone about it, but no one had ever actually been there, so my friend Toby and I decided to go find it for ourselves.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen. Toby was two years older.” She popped the last slice of apple in her mouth.
The witch hunter’s brows drew together. “You went into the Black Woods alone with a young man when you were fourteen?”
There was a world of judgment in the question.
Before she could tell him where he could shove his sanctimonious opinions, her mother leaned down between them to set two cups of tea on the table.
She slid one to her and the other to the witch hunter.
“The rules here are different from what you’re accustomed to, Captain,” her mother said mildly before withdrawing and taking her place in the rocking chair beside the fire.