Chapter 8 #2
Her blonde hair hangs to her hips in loose waves. There are charms, a few feathers, and—is that a bone?—woven into the scattered braids. The kid’s eyes are locked on the ground, and she’s holding a bowl of greenish paste in one hand and a bouquet in the other.
“You’re a witch,” Ciprian gasps. “Who brought you here? Where are your parents?”
“If you want Celine healed, you’ll shut up,” Riven hisses. “Don’t speak to her again, or the deal is off.”
I smile gently at the girl. She’s clearly rattled by Ciprian’s questions, which are completely valid. Witches and humans are the only species native to Earth. The rest of us came from somewhere else. How did this witch, barely more than a child, end up this far from home?
She walks to the cot slowly and offers me the flowers.
Internally, I groan because fuck Riven for this. I can’t be bitchy to a teenager. I take the flowers, even though I don’t have a clue what to do with them. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m Celine.”
“What did I say?” Riven snaps, taking a menacing step forward.
“You told Ciprian not to talk to her.” I wave the bouquet at him. “I’m not going to interrogate the kid. Gods, you need to relax.”
“My name is Hyacinth Belladonna,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you, Celine. With your permission, I’ll heal your wounds.”
I lean back on the heels of my hands, completely taken aback.
Healing magic is rare. That’s why witch potions are expensive.
And this girl can’t be more than seventeen.
Is she strong enough to help? I decide there’s no harm in finding out.
If she manages to take away even a fraction of the pain, it’s worth a shot.
I go to spread my legs, then freeze, glancing at Riven.
He turns to face the wall, the line of his jaw visibly tight.
When the first glob of green goop hits my burns, I cry out in pain.
“I’m sorry,” Hyacinth says. “It won’t hurt for long. I promise.”
“It’s okay. Keep going.” I grit my teeth to stay quiet, enduring the agony as silently as I can.
Once all the burns are coated in slime, the witch rocks back on her heels and wipes two streaks of the same paste across her own cheeks. Then she begins to chant. Low, sonorous, the spell tingles against my skin as it grows back, the agony of the burn fading as if it was never there.
When the young witch sways on her feet, I drop the flowers and steady her. “Hey, that’s enough. I’m good to go. Don’t wear yourself out.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she nods, pointing at the bouquet. “Sleep with that under your pillow. The chamomile provides energy, and the hyssop will chase away any infection lingering beneath the skin.”
“Thank you.” I’m developing a new appreciation for the flowers. I don’t know everything about witches, but Brandy is constantly talking about how hard it is to maintain simple spells without the rest of her coven. Yet somehow this teen healed my second and third-degree burns by herself.
She turns to leave, glancing at Riven and rolling her shoulders back.
I can’t help myself. I’m in no position to help her, but I have to try. I grab her hand. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“That’s enough.” Riven jerks his thumb at the door, and Hyacinth pulls her hand free from mine.
I shuffle to my feet, not giving a shit about my bare thighs. “She’s a child, asshole, and this is a prison. You can’t keep her here against her will.”
“I’m not . . . it’s not like that,” Hyacinth says. “I can’t explain more. I’m sorry.” She’s trembling. I grimace and sit my ass back down. The last thing I want to do is scare her.
Riven sighs and cocks his head as he watches her. “Can you accommodate the other request?”
She nods eagerly and runs her hands over the edge of the cot. It expands with me sitting on it, growing until it’s king sized and plush.
“Holy shit,” Ciprian grunts, and my mouth drops open.
Hyacinth giggles, and the bones in her hair rattle. Then, with her bowl of green goop in hand, she ducks out of the cell and shuts the door behind her.
I shake my head at Riven. “I knew you were fucked up, but she’s a kid. Let her go home.”
Riven sneers, and I hold his stare, resisting the urge to look away. “I don’t answer to you,” he says in a voice colder than ice.
“Then why are you still here?” Ciprian asks.
Riven pulls a bottle of dark liquid from the pocket of his coat and thrusts it into my hand. “You two are insufferable. Do everyone a favor, get drunk, and stop making demands.” He snatches his discarded cloak off the floor and wraps it around his shoulders. “You fight again in two days.”
The door slams and locks behind him.
I glance at the bottle he gave me with interest. “What do you want to bet this tastes as bad as it looks?”
Ciprian shrugs. “Only way to know for sure.”
Hours later, as I’m curled up against his side, still half-drunk from the strong and surprisingly smooth liquor, I realize we did exactly what that faceless asshole wanted.
Riven’s playing games, but I’m fighting for my future. I’ll follow his rules for now, but once I get Luca, Malach, and Alistair back, he’ll pay for what he’s done.