Page 27 of Night of the Witch
The kapitän pushes the cork back into the sheepskin. “You can sleep. I told you, no one will touch you.”
I laugh. It’s bitter and sharp. “Forgive me for not thinking your word has any bearing whatsoever,jäger.”
He holds a beat. “You’re not going to escape either.”
I refuse to look at him, glowering at my lap. “Just leave me alone.”
His nearness is disorienting. Is that why he fed me? So I’d be full and too tired to run? My arms shake, and I do look up now, only to scowl.
Maid, Mother, and Crone, I’ve never hated someone as much as I hate this one man.
“Leave mealone,” I say when he lingers.
He stands. I think he’s going to walk away, but he just tosses the now empty sheepskin and bowl toward the fire. Then he pulls a length of rope from a satchel at his waist and knots one end to my wrist.
“The manacles aren’t enough?” I snap.
Silently—the Three save me, this man barelyspeaks—he unwinds the rope and loops the other end to his wrist.
We’re connected now.
Any move I make in the night, he’ll feel. Unless I can somehow saw through this rope without waking him. How heavy a sleeper is he? Maybe—
“I’m a very light sleeper,” he says at the look on my face. “And until you tell me what I need to know, you’re under my command.”
I can’t stand it anymore; I rear back and thrash out to kick him, but he sidesteps it easily, and when he does, his face catches in the firelight.
He isn’t smiling. Not laughing at my feeble act of rebellion.
He looks…in pain.
The kapitän drops to the ground next to me—out of kicking distance—and positions his back against a tree. He folds his arms over his chest, pulling taut the rope between us, and closes his eyes.
I yank on the rope, hoping to make him tip over, but it barely fazes him.
The Three help me, I want to scream. I want to attack him. I need to expel this fury, because if I don’t, I’ll realize it isn’t fury at all.
It’s fear.
I won’t escape tonight.
Which means tomorrow, I’ll be taken into Trier as a prisoner, and any chance I had at freeing Liesel will be lost.
The fire sizzles down to embers, casting the area in a hazy orange glow. It’s that softness that pushes tears down my cheeks. I can’t stop them; I can’t even wipe them away, helplessness urging more, careening my grief out of control.
My mother died yesterday.
I haven’t let myself feel it. Not truly. And I grind my teeth against it now, begging myself not to think about it, not yet; I’ll mourn, but notyet—
I sob there in the darkness, fighting to keep my gasps quiet.
Maid, Mother, and Crone,the prayer comes unbidden, and itachesnow knowing they won’t hear me. That I’m well and truly alone.
Are you, though?
Go away,I push at the voice.Not now. Please. Just leave me alone.
I’ve come this far and not given into wild magic. What makes the voice think I ever will, if I haven’t by now?
