Chapter 8
M y food is laced with drugs.
Every day, myophidgrows more and more lethargic. Sleep eludes me. I lay awake each night, taut with fear of an attack from the prince or the king. Or that myophidwill wither away from underuse. The magic I usually feel so strongly thrumming beneath the surface of my skin has gone nearly silent. I weep for hours, unable to do anything about it. It is not only a strength I have lost but a connection. To my aunt and my mother and my identity. It has been ripped from me. I am a witch with no witchcraft.
Crocas can outrun any other animal in the swamp, including people. Their legs are short compared to their scaly bodies, more suited to swimming in the thick swamp water. But on land, they are deceptively quick, patiently waiting for their moment to strike. In order to tame them, the croca shepherds clip a muscle at the back of their legs. Not deep enough to cripple them completely, but enough that they cannot run.
I wonder if any of them feel as I do now.
Clipped .
The maids continue to visit each morning, although they rarely speak to me. Inez brings breakfast trays filled with soft, fresh bread, salted butter, and mounds of cooked eggs. Hot tea is routinely brought throughout the day, served in delicate ceramic mugs and accompanied by bowls filled with sugar cubes. I eye them warily and yearn for the spiced cinnamon tea Aunt Meena used to make for me whenever I was stressed over my studies.
My heart aches, and hot tears bubble to the surface whenever I think of her. I dream of her library and the warm glow of herau’manaand the smell of the books. I miss drawing with her, scraping together materials to make paint, and creating art she would proudly display on the walls of her home.
I miss her, but I refuse to grieve for her. Grieving means she is lost to me, but I will get her back.
I draw my knees up to my chest and bury my face in my arms, refusing to eat the food the maids bring to me. I hope I can outlast the hunger until the drugs wear off and myau’mana returns to me. Maybe then I have a chance at escape.
After a few days, I begin to feel dizzy when I stand and my stomach cramps painfully. I attempt to get out of bed but my legs buckle beneath me, and I crumble to the floor like a piece of flimsy paper. Inez catches me before I hit the ground, her arms strong but her grip soft, and she places me back into bed.
“Please, Miss Shivani,” she begs me. “You are killing yourself.”
I rub my tired eyes. My limbs are as heavy as lead, and I struggle to find the energy to fight anymore. Inez glances at the rest of the maids as they peer at me with curious eyes and shoos them away. Once we are alone, she sits on the stool beside my bed.
“I know you do not trust the food,” she whispers, sitting me upright against the pillows. “But it does not come from the king. I can promise you that.”
“It is laced,” I croak back, insistent. Tears spill down my face, but I do not have the energy to brush them away. “Myophidis…it does not work. Something is dulling it. It must be the food.”
Inez picks at her nails, looking at me with worry in her eyes.
“I am sorry, miss. I do not know the intricacies of witchcraft,” she says before clasping my hand. “But the food is not being tampered with. Please, just…just eat.”
I eye the tray of breakfast food.
“How will you fight when you have no energy?” Inez nudges the tray closer to me with an encouraging smile. I search her eyes carefully. There is no malice there. Despite myself, I give a small smile back and take a bite of the bread roll.
As I start and end each day with a full stomach, I find my old energy returning. But myau’manaremains frustratingly out of reach. I inspect each meal thoroughly, turning over each bit of food and holding it in my mouth for discrepancies in taste before I swallow. But I am either being incredibly well deceived, or Inez is right, and the food is not spiked. Both possibilities send my mind whirring as I try to understand what is blocking my magic from me. If I can just figure it out, I can break through this castle and find my freedom again.
Regardless, I find myself sleeping better as I recover. Several days cycle on, and the threat of a sudden attack in my bedchamber wanes in my mind. I am still caged, but I am fed and—for the next six months—safe. I picture an hourglass over my head, the grains of sand trickling slowly through until my six months is up. I can escape before then. I can return to my Aunt.
But something else gnaws at me, which I had not considered. The isolation.
I am not allowed outside of my bedchambers, and it is not long before I begin to feel the first stirrings of a mad mind. I am restless. Confined. Inez is the only person I see who speaks to me. The others do not even make eye contact. Perhaps out of fear of the king. Perhaps because it is not worth getting to know a condemned woman.
My sleep becomes fitful again. I am reduced to thinking out loud during the long hours between Inez’s visits. There are not even books in the room. I scour every inch of my chambers, Morraine’s name scratched into my mind like the wood of the bed.
The next time Inez visits, she finds me pacing back and forth, muttering to myself.
“Miss?” She places the lunch tray down slowly as though dealing with an erratic animal. “Are you quite alright?”
“No, Inez, I am not,” I say. I stop pacing to turn and look at her. I am rife with agitation and unable to stay still. Instead, I hop from one foot to the other. “I need to leave this room. I am…” I begin to pace again. “I am losing my mind.”
Inez fidgets with her apron.
“Well…the king is not here…”
I brighten at her words.
“He is not?”
“His Highness left on a political trip of some sort. To Swordstead.”
I am reminded of the fruits I saw during my first and only dinner with the king. I wonder what this means for Mossgarde. Worse, will this trip strengthen the king’s position? I push this to the side for the moment and force myself to focus on the now.
“So, I am free to move about the castle?” I ask Inez.
“The guards will report on your movements.” She shakes her head. “They will tell the king you have left your chambers.”
“This is ridiculous. How am I to break the curse if I cannot even leave my room?” I huff, but the king’s absence has emboldened me. I tap my finger off my chin, thinking. “Let me help you.”
“Help me, miss?” Inez blinks at me.
“Allow me to come with you and help you with your tasks for the day,” I explain. “I am sure you have many and…and I would be glad to be of help. It would mean I can leave this wretched room, and all the guards will see is a common girl doing servant work.”
I watch the thoughts churning in Inez’s mind as she casts her eyes downwards.
“Surely not all the maidens in the room were forced to remain here?”
“Well, no. They were not. But they also did not bite the prince.” Inez sighs. “Very well. Perhaps you can help the kitchen staff with preparing dinner for this evening.”
“I would be happy to!” I exclaim, elated at the chance of leaving these four walls. The more I learn about the layout of the castle, the more chance I have for escape.
I follow Inez out of my chambers. A guard is posted in the hall outside, standing to attention. He gives us a sharp look.
“She will be assisting us in the kitchen today,” Inez tells him with a firmness I have not heard from her before. “So she may better serve the prince during her time here.”
The guard gives us a long look but eventually nods. We scurry away.
The kitchen is one floor down, at the end of a set of narrow steps. Inez explains the servants rarely use these pathways as the castle is riddled with tunnels that make getting around much more efficient.
The kitchen is large, and I am surprised to see it is actually one of several kitchens, each joined and in charge of a different meal. It is full of staff, and they buzz around like the insects above the swamp water—organised but swift. I shrink back, slightly overwhelmed.
“Come.” Inez pulls me gently by the arm. “Meet some of the staff.”
She takes me to an adjacent room where the sweet smell of sugar hangs in the air. Chefs are lined across the counter, working in tandem. In one section, they create delicate-looking pastries. In another, others move fast to transform sugared fruit into decorative pieces. I stand in awe of them.
“This is Vanya,” Inez introduces a tall, imposing woman with powdered sugar on her cheek. She regards me warily.
“It is so nice to meet you.” I incline my head. “My name is Shivani, I…”
I glance at Inez for reassurance and she smiles encouragingly.
“I would like to help today if I can,” I finish, my voice wavering.
“Have you any kitchen experience?” Vanya asks. She frowns deeply, looking unimpressed.
“Uh…” I step forward as another chef comes barrelling behind me with a large casket of something thick and pink. “I have helped my aunt cook.”
Truthfully, we have not cooked together in many years. When I was young, food was plentiful in Mossgarde and Aunt Meena taught me recipes from her birth town, Caldercruix. But now, most people survived on whatever they could find, oftentimes the fruit from low-hanging trees or edible reeds. I think of the food I have eaten so far in the castle and wince.
“But I have not had much experience in cooking the kind of food served here,” I clarify before swallowing hard at the sight of Vanya’s face.
“Is our food not good enough?” she thunders.
“N-Not at all,” I stammer, wishing desperately that I could fall into a hole in the ground. Most who know me would not describe me as a timid person, but Vanya makes me feel as though I am being scolded by my mother .
“Vanya,” Inez gently interrupts. “Shivani is a Never…”
Her eyes flicker to me briefly.
“She was volunteered here. For the curse,” she finishes eventually. Vanya’s face immediately softens.
“She is not the werewolf noble?”
I look between the two of them, confused.
“What werewolf noble?” I ask.
“No, she is from Mossgarde,” Inez continues, looking as confused me. “Her father…put her forward.”
“I see,” Vanya says quietly. The pity is unbearable and shame burns my cheeks. “And you wish to…assist us?”
“Yes. Please. I cannot stay in my chambers any longer.” The truth slips out of me, either through the heat of the kitchen or the relentless gaze of Vanya. She stares at me a moment longer before raising her hands. She claps once, sharply. The rest of the kitchen staff stop immediately.
“Eliza! William!” Vanya barks. Two young servants rush over. “Miss Shivani will be assisting us today. Please show her where to clean up.”
Without another glance, Vanya turns back to her task. Her fingers nimbly arrange small pastries with snowberries buried inside. I let Eliza and Willian lead me to a large sink where we can wash our hands with chilly water and plain soap .
“My apologies, but I do not have much experience,” I admit to them as we wash the suds off our fingers. “The food my Aunt taught me to cook is quite different to here.”
“Do not fret, miss,” Eliza tells me. Her smile is bright and earnest. There is a small gap between her front teeth, endearing me immediately. There is a sudden thickness in my throat at knowing she has spent her whole life in this castle. “Vanya will teach you well. She may look mean, but…well, you will see.”
We meet Vanya at the pastry station, where she assigns us our tasks. I am set to kneading and rolling the dough into layers so thin you can almost see through them. I tear the dough the first several times and wipe the sweat from my brow irritably, but Eliza is right—Vanya is surprisingly patient with me. Soon, I roll the dough with ease and pass it on to the next station.
Vanya does not speak much as we work. Her face remains pinched with concentration and I enjoy the quiet between us. The kitchen is alive with more people than I have seen in weeks. The time goes by quickly until dinner is served to the prince in the king’s absence.
Servants cart away lines of food the staff worked throughout the day to produce, moving in organised waves until the kitchen is empty. Only then do we sit to eat ourselves.
Vanya dishes out small plates of the dinner we made. We dine on slow-cooked croca and roasted lard potatoes, perching on stools and balancing our plates on our laps. I look around at everyone laughing and eating and trading gossip. I find myself on the brink of tears but keep them at bay. I turn to Vanya instead.
“Thank you for allowing me in here today,” I tell her. “It has been a welcome distraction indeed.”
“I am glad of it,” she replies simply.
“We have enjoyed your company, miss,” Eliza pipes up, her cheeks full of potatoes.
“As I have enjoyed yours. It is…well, I always preferred the company of books to people, but I suppose we all need some connection. And I…” To my horror, my voice begins to break. My vision blurs with tears.
“It is alright, miss.” Eliza pats the back of my hand. “You have a heavy burden on your head.”
“Exactly,” William chimes in. “The curse is monstrous. But if anyone can break it, it will be you. I am sure of it.”
At the edge of my vision, I catch Vanya rolling her eyes but I say nothing. I smile at William and his young optimism.
“Thank you.”
“I am curious, though, Miss Shivani.” We turn to look at Vanya as she mops up the last of her gravy. “What food can you cook?”
I laugh and eye her mischievously.
“Would you like me to show you?” I ask.
She seems taken aback for a moment, her lips parting before giving me a small smile.
“Absolutely.”
I search the vast cupboards for any familiar ingredients and settle on a few spices as well as a bag of lentils. Vanya watches me curiously as I work, keen-eyed. I can see her absorbing everything. She stands next to me at the counter with her own set of identical ingredients and copies my movements.
“There is a tale my Aunt used to tell me when we would cook together,” I say, grinding the lentils using a smooth rock. “It is said that witches used to brew potions with magical properties.”
Vanya nods eagerly.
“I have heard this,” she says. “Potions with strange ingredients.”
I smile coyly and wag a finger.
“Ah! But it is only a rumour,” I correct her and begin chopping garlic into small chunks. Vanya follows me closely, although her eyebrows raise at this new information.
“It is not true?”
“A complete falsehood,” I confirm. “It is sirens who are able to create liquid magic. Brewed and stewed in large pots before they carefully ladle it into glass bottles.”
Vanya chops her garlic expertly, her knife gliding through the root. Her eyes are on the chopping board, but her face is turned slightly towards me, enraptured.
“One day, a witch came across one of these glass bottles. It was half-buried in the sand at an isolated beach with no footprints. When she picked it up, she saw it was empty. But there was something…distinct about it. A ringing in her ears, soft and sweet. And then she heard a voice from the sea.”
Vanya stops chopping to listen.
“It calls out to her. A greeting, the witch thinks, but she cannot quite hear. Slowly…curiously…she walks over to the water. There, amongst the gentle waves of the sea, a head bobs above the surface. Almost like a human, but not quite. Green-skinned and scaly. The witch is at the edge of the land, and the water is lapping at her ankles. She holds the empty bottle in her hand, and she can still hear the ringing in her ears. So beautiful. So tempting. The person in the water smiles at her and says—”
“Miss Shivani!”
We are broken from our conversation by Inez rushing into the kitchen. Vanya jumps out of her skin and nearly drops her knife.
“Inez!” I put a hand to my thumping heart.
“My apologies.” She gives a hurried curtsy. “The guards are due their kitchen inspection. You will need to return to your chambers immediately. The more of them we lie to, the more likely they are to inform the king. ”
My mouth dries at the mention of the king. I nod numbly.
“You are right,” I say. I incline my head to Vanya, who has straightened back to her usual self. “I will send Inez a note with the recipe. I hope to see you again soon.”
“As do I, Miss Shivani,” she replies, but there is a grave set to her mouth, which makes me feel as though she does not believe she will.