Chapter 16
ètre mort de peur
CLAIRE
When he was gone, I snatched a pillow off the bed and hurled it at the door. I would’ve preferred to throw something much heavier at his smug face—like a sword. Too bad I didn’t have one.
Breath coming in short gasps, I reached for another pillow, intent on throwing something else, when my gaze snagged on the sash of my robe.
It wasn’t tied the way I would have tied it in a simple bow.
I lowered the pillow, my anger cooling into confusion.
Slowly, I set it aside and reached for the knot, tugging experimentally.
It didn’t give. I frowned, both hands working at it now, but no matter how I pulled, the knot held tight.
By Diana, it was the same kind of knot Bastien had tied earlier. Some knot surely designed to keep prisoners from escaping. Had he tied my robe a second time? I didn’t remember that. My stomach dipped.
What else didn’t I remember?
I grew restless the longer I tried to answer that question and came up with nothing, so I forced myself to get out of bed, sidestepping broken shards of glass, splinters of wood, and porcelain dust, and lowered myself into the chair Bastien had occupied by the fire. Hugging my knees to my chest.
I reached for glimpses of what had transpired while staring into the flames.
As hard as I tried, there was nothing. Nothing…
except—I lifted a trembling hand to my mouth, delicately tracing the outline of my lips.
There was no memory, only a strange feeling that we had…
I shook my head and lowered my hand. No.
No. That wasn’t real. I’d only dreamed our kiss.
Yet, I couldn’t shake the strange feeling that his lips had touched mine.
A spark of something akin to excitement ignited in my stomach before anger had my hands curling into fists.
I was just disoriented. Over the past five days, my world had turned upside down, and I was doing things I’d never dared to think about.
Staying in a den of darkness. Rooming with a vampire.
To make matters worse, I was failing at the one thing my family trusted me to do: spy on Bastien.
Just thinking his name caused a torrent of emotions to churn in my stomach. I knew I was supposed to be acting submissive and sweet, like a flower waiting to have its petals picked to lure him into trusting me—it’s what Mama had told me to do—but at every turn, I was failing at that, too.
Something about the man drove me mad.
Rubbing at my temples, I melted into the chair, watching the fire popping and hissing in the hearth.
The wild flames made me think of my little sister.
Sera believed in me. She believed I could discover the information necessary to destroy dark magick.
And if she believed in me, I had to believe in myself.
Besides, I’d learned a few valuable things.
A soft knock startled me from my thoughts. “I have your breakfast, Miss,” called a voice from the other side of the door. “And the treatment His Grace requested.”
By treatment, she meant black magick.
My hand drifted to the lace choker once again. Bastien had demanded I eat and allow the wounds to be cleaned, and Mama wanted me to be compliant and meek, but doing so challenged everything I was taught about their kind.
As much as I wanted to send Shreesa away, I knew I couldn’t. I was already allowing a vampire to take what he wanted from my body, I supposed this was all part of my sacrifice. To be touched and prodded by enemies so my family didn’t have to endure such shame.
“May I come in?” the witch asked.
“Come in!” I called, the words sticking in my throat.
The woman bustled inside with a wicker basket in one hand and a tray in the other and closed the door. My heart accelerated to a galloping beat as soon as it was shut. Fear prickled along my spine and nervous sweat broke out over my skin.
I assessed her like a fox sizing up a hen, even though she was the one with teeth. Shreesa was a middle-aged woman with thick red hair and a round face. I thought she looked kind, but I knew looks could be deceiving, especially with Dark Witches.
All it took was one spell, and she’d transform.
When Shreesa saw the broken pitcher and bedpost, she clicked her tongue. “My, my. This is quite the mess. What was His Grace in a rage about this time?”
She cast me a sidelong glance. Her thin lips curling into a knowing smile. But what she knew, she didn’t say.
Extracting a slender wooden stick from her apron pocket, she chanted in a language I didn’t know.
As she did, her eyes glowed red, just like a demon’s.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge as the charge of magick reverberated through the room, and the smell of something sweet lingered in the air.
Instinct had me out of my chair. I flipped it over to shield myself, cowering behind it.
Then I snatched an iron poker from beside the fireplace for good measure.
The broken items put themselves back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Then she crouched to my eye level. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Miss. I forgot His Grace told me you were from Nightfall, and Damien knows how the sisters love to spin tall tales about us.”
Her eyes stopped glowing blood red, and she shoved the thin wooden wand back into her pocket; my grip on the iron poker loosened a little. “Did they tell you we have a mouth full of sharp teeth? The better to eat disobedient children? That’s always been my favorite story.”
She thought my fear funny, did she? Slowly, I stood from behind the chair, but I didn’t drop my weapon. I’d heard the stories about Dark Witches my family allowed me to hear and those they didn’t.
Of the viciousness. Of the inhumanity.
“Sister Vera said you can grow long claws and sharp teeth. That you are just as monstrous as the demons you worship.”
Or as the vampires that protected you from justice.
Shreesa’s eyes held a hint of sadness when she said, “There’s a kernel of truth in every story.”
Righteous anger had me taking a step forward. “So you admit it. You are a monster.”
She set her tray on the dresser and offered me one of the muffins. I didn’t move. I was petrified. I was furious. I was out of my element in every way. But I stood my ground because that was what Prideaux witches did.
“All magick is monstrous if wielded by the wrong kind of witch, child.”
What a ridiculous thing to say. My family’s magick wasn’t monstrous. It was a gift from the Moon Goddess, Diana. A blessing.
Those who had Diana’s gift, the Witches of the Light, didn’t transform into beasts. They were good. And used their magick to protect themselves. “And you think you’re the right kind of witch, do you?” I asked, clutching the fire poker like I was ready to swing it at her.
I didn’t know what I meant to do, only that I didn’t want to be defenseless when she showed her claws. But Shreesa didn’t move to attack me. She simply ran a hand down the front of her apron.
“I try to be,” she said, then cleared her throat. Looking at me like I was nothing more than an exasperating child. “Now, why don’t you sit down so I can clean those wounds? That’s what His Grace wants. That, and for you to eat.”
I didn’t want to eat her food or let her touch me, but I had to calm my anger and quiet my fears, no matter how hard it was. This was my chance to question her. To be the spy my family needed.
Setting down the fire poker would be easier if Bastien was here and I knew I was safe. But he’d left me alone, even though he’d committed to protecting me. I shouldn’t be disappointed or surprised. I was used to being alone.
Slowly, I took the muffin and lifted it to my nose.
It was warm, and it smelled more delicious than anything I’d ever eaten.
Cautious, I took a small bite. It was filled with autumn flavors.
Pumpkin. Cinnamon. Hearty oats. Shreesa stepped around me and righted the chair I’d knocked over.
I took another bite as I studied her, hating how much I liked the fluffy texture and sweetness.
The witch patted the back of the chair, encouraging me to sit down while she busied herself with little pots and bundles of herbs inside her basket. With one eye on the witch, I lowered myself into the seat. The poker resting on my lap, just in case she got any ideas.
Shreesa hung a kettle over the fire, whistling softly as she returned to her basket and extracted a bolt of linen and cut it into strips. If I was going to ask her questions, I needed to get started. I watched her for a few more moments, then asked, “How do you know the Duke?”
Shreesa raised a brow. “Eat another bite, and I’ll tell you.”
For the sake of my curiosity, I took another bite.
She gave me a cheeky smile. “Our inn has always been a stop for those traveling between the north to Chateau Corbin,” she began, using a blade just as short and stubby as she was to cut needles from a bundle of rosemary, releasing its fragrant aroma.
“The Duke is old enough to have known every witch in our graveyard, and he’s been good to all of us.”
I let my gaze return to the fire, gripping the iron poker so tight the rough metal scraped my palm. Bastien had always favored Dark Witches. It shouldn’t surprise me.
The kettle started whistling, and she rushed to take it off the heat.
pouring its contents into a small cauldron before sprinkling in herbs, and adding a vial of essential oil.
“Even though we don’t live within his territory, His Grace has listened to our concerns, even when others would ignore them. ”
“And what were those concerns?”
Shreesa let out a sigh. “He’s helped us out here and there with land disputes and hunting infringements, appealing to the Duke of Lakeland on our behalf. But most importantly, he always brings us back a gift from the Lawless Lands to keep our magick alive.”
My mouth dropped, and a sick feeling rose in my throat. “He brings you demonic relics?”
“Yes, child.”
By Diana, Bastien wasn’t just turning a blind eye to their crimes.
He was replacing every relic my family destroyed with a new one.
My shame and disgust for my strange urges quadrupled.
I’d thought about doing inexcusable things with a man who wasn’t just turning a blind eye, but who was actively aiding them.
No. Not a man. A vampire.
Shreesa dipped the strips of linen into the cauldron, steeping them in the herbal concoction she’d prepared. “I know the Nightfall Convent teaches you to worship Diana and to see her Witches of the Light as protectors, but they have all but destroyed our way of life.”
My temper boiled over, and I threw the muffin into the fire, then lifted the iron rod, pointing the sharp end at her heart. She simply let out another long sigh. It made me even angrier to know she didn’t see me as a threat. My vision tunneled until all I saw was her unflinching face.
“Get out,” I said between clenched teeth.
Without another word, the witch did as I commanded. When she was gone, I paced back and forth across the small room, poker in hand, seething.
I thought I’d come here to spy on Bastien and discover the location of the relics, but it was clear to me there was another thing I needed to do.
A more important thing. Bastien wasn’t just a monster—he was the hand that fed the fire.
If I couldn’t destroy the relics, I could destroy the man who kept bringing them back.