Chapter 7 #2
I stare at him in tight-lipped annoyance, breathing hard through my nose.
Storms are dangerous on the rockfield on the other side of the castle.
There’s nothing there to break the wind, and it howls for miles, coming off the ocean with uncut fury.
To say nothing of the size the waves can reach in conditions like these.
I’m angry, and I’m tired, and I don’t know how to explain, even to myself, how I feel. By the gods, I cannot spend the rest of my life living like this, and all for a crime I did not even commit, and do not even remember.
At least the witch is being punished alongside me.
The Governor takes a step toward me, trying to intimidate me. I’m not scared of him. But a small, fragile part of me still wants to believe the War-Father could call me home tomorrow, and disobeying the council’s orders isn’t going to help my case.
“I need my sword.”
The Governor barks a laugh.
“Still making demands, are you? They don’t want you back, bitch knight.”
The witch narrows his eyes, but the insult rolls off me like water.
“Do you want me to watch the prisoner or not? Considering I’m the only person on the isle with the skill to do anything about him…” nevermind that he’s Enchanted, it’s idiocy to leave me unarmed with a prisoner this dangerous.
The Governor’s lips curl down. He looks at the witch for a moment.
“Malkin, have the sword put in her room,” the Governor says. “She can have it once she’s done gathering.”
“Yes, sir,” Malkin answers.
Everyone else filters inside to get out of the rain. The witch watches them go. Malkin hangs back, grabbing my shoulder and drawing close. The rain has made her hair lace droop and her cheeks turn red with cold. Her whole face shines in the damp.
“The apples,” she whispers when the Governor is out of earshot. “Caiteven, gods, this is my fault.”
“Don’t be silly,” I whisper back. “We both agreed. And we both know he’d do this either way.”
Malkin’s eyes dart to the witch, but I can feel his gaze glued to me. Malkin is pretty enough that most people stare only at her.
He's close enough to overhear every word we're saying.
“Let me help. I’ll come with the two of you. I’ll…”
My throat tightens again.
“No,” I insist. “Go inside. Eat. It should be better food than normal.”
“But someone should watch your back…”
“It’s fine, Malkin. I’m fine.”
She bites her lip.
“I’ll make sure Angar saves some for you, then,” she says reluctantly. “And… for your… him.”
I nod. Malkin goes in.
I turn and face the witch. The look burning in his eyes is brutal. Water runs down his cheeks, carving patterns down his thick neck and his corded, ink-lined forearms.
My body remembers the pain he put me through. Predator, my stomach whispers as my skin crawls.
But is he still a threat? He’s without his dragon.
I know the markings drawn across his skin keep him contained.
The ones on his face keep him from lying.
I haven’t gotten a good look at the other enchantment marks on him, but he must be without his foul witchcraft. They wouldn’t leave him that power.
If the enchantment won’t let him fight or disobey, why do they need me to guard him at all? Couldn’t they just toss him in a dungeon somewhere?
Am I supposed to hate witches so badly I disobey the War-Father and kill him? No, that's just wishful thinking, not the test.
The rain splatters over both of us, cold and dreary, as the wind pierces through my clothes. The witch just keeps staring.
“We’d better start before it gets worse,” I say.
He doesn’t answer. It wasn’t a command. I unfold my arms, reach forward, and unlock the chain from around his wrists. With my hands hovering less than an inch from his skin, I can feel the sickening buzz of the enchantment lines. When I pull the shackles away the skin beneath looks pink and raw.
The shackle might come in useful later, so I loop it over my belt for now.
He licks his lips, and I wonder how long it’s been since he had food, or a drink. Up close, his lips are nearly as chapped as his wrists. Shadows of bruises hide beneath his skin where the sailors must have taken out their anger.
He doesn’t deserve honor or kindness. But if the War-Father wants me to keep the prisoner alive, then it’s my job to make sure he has what he needs to live. No matter how much I hate it.
“Come, witch.”
I lead him up the steps from the dock and around to the far side of the castle, the stones slick under my feet. The rows of metal rain barrels we use for drinking water are mostly empty, the prior storm’s water having been brought inside to make room for tonight’s rain.
The witch flexes his hands as I fill the ladle with water. He winces as he rotates his wrists, like he was bound for an uncomfortable amount of time. When I hand him the water, I see the fury fade for a moment, replaced by raw desire. He’s desperate for a drink.
He takes the ladle and empties it in one long gulp, his neck bobbing. I refill it and he chugs the water again as rain streams over him. The storm will make tonight miserable, but at least it’ll help wash him clean. He takes another drink of the water.
He’ll live. That’s enough nicety on my end. I hook the ladle back over the barrel and fetch one of the storm lanterns from just inside the back entry, lighting it from the one hanging on the castle’s wall. The small oil flame burns inside a thick glass bubble, held in a sturdy metal stand.
“That’s the rockfield,” I say, jerking my thumb away from the castle. “I hope you’re good at swimming, because I don’t go in the water.” I offer him the lantern and he takes it. For a moment his fingers brush against mine and my whole body stiffens.
“I seem to remember you did,” he rasps.
This asshole is my prisoner, Enchanted to follow my every command, and he still thinks he can taunt me? About an attack that killed two hundred of my people and ruined my life? I scowl.
“Only because you failed to kill me.” The rain slashes one way, then another, buffeted by the wind.
“Pity. How did you survive?”
I didn’t think I could hate him more, but the anger throbs in my head, hot and explosive. My muscles hum, ready to fight.
I ought to kill him. I ought to order him to walk straight into the sea.
But I can’t do that. I’m supposed to keep him alive, and in one piece. I draw a deep breath as my heart pounds.
“Go on, then,” I tell him sharply, folding my arms and leaning back against one of the barrels. The rain howls through the sky. I raise my voice to be heard over it. “Gather what you find and bring it back here. An armful for us each, as quickly as you can. And no running away.”
“You aren’t going to help?” he growls. The storm has turned the whole rockfield dark, but his eyes still glow through it.
“Don’t feel like it,” I say through gritted teeth. “Listen to your betters, thrall.”
The witch gives me one last stare, then turns and walks away barefoot across the rocks.
Guilt gnaws at my stomach as I watch him leave. I’m not used to sending people into danger when I refuse to go myself, and it’s my job now to watch him and keep him captive. But if I go with him, I’m afraid of what I might do.
My whole crew. The Enchanted.
And who knows how many others he and his dragon have killed. Probably thousands. He deserves far worse than this. I swear someday I’ll get to watch the light fade from his eyes.
Lightning crackles through the sky, followed a second later by a rumble of thunder.
I find a spot against the castle where I’m shielded from the worst of the storm, and sit back, hoping I haven’t just made a terrible mistake by letting him out of my sight.
Darkness swallows him until all I can see is the storm lantern, wavering like a distant star.
Another flash of lighting illuminates the rockfield, and the sight of the Witch King striding through the storm burns into my eyes. The wind howls. This task isn’t meant to be done by one person alone.
“Gods damn the whole world,” I mutter, and follow him into the storm after all.