Page 14 of As Many Souls as Stars
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘My name is Richter,’ she said. ‘Miriam Richter.’
‘Did you steal my horse?’ Cybil asked, trying to keep her voice level. ‘If you return her now, I shall not tell.’
Richter chuckled and swooped forward, taking a lunging, open-armed step that felt distinctly animalistic in character. Cybil recoiled.
‘You need not fear me, Cybil,’ Richter said. ‘Others have been cruel to you, I know, but I am not like them. I am different. I can aid you.’
‘I do not require your aid,’ Cybil replied.
Richter’s lips twitched—either with amusement or irritation. ‘Oh?’
Cybil took another step back, and Richter followed.
‘Leave me alone,’ Cybil said.
Thunder crashed again, but still, there was no rain.
‘Is that truly what you desire?’ Richter asked. ‘To return to your constant solitude? Another night in that echoing house, with only the dark for company?’
‘It is no business of yours what company I keep.’
‘And yet you wear your loneliness as clearly as a scar.’
Cybil drew a shuddering breath. ‘What is it you require from me? There must be some cause for this ambush.’
Richter raised a brow. ‘I thought to handle you delicately. Mayhap that was misguided.’
Then, suddenly, she was close, too close: only an arm’s length away. Her fingers, long and slender and sharp-nailed, reached out to draw a line down Cybil’s jaw. Her touch was cool and firm—it did not hurt, but Cybil felt as if it would leave bruises, all the same—and her breath, as it ghosted between them, smelt curiously of petrichor and autumn air.
Cybil should have pulled away, but it was as if she were frozen in place. There was magic here, that was certain. ‘You are a witch.’
‘A witch?’ Richter’s voice was coolly amused, but she wound her hand into Cybil’s hair with a vindictive strength, moving too quickly for Cybil to shy away. Richter tightened her grip just enough for it to sting, and Cybil felt a spark of fear and traitorous pleasure trail down her spine. ‘Is that what you think?’
Cybil asked, pulse thundering, ‘What else could you possibly be?’
‘Hm.’ Richter tugged her hair so that Cybil’s head tipped back, and their eyes met. ‘I am better described by what I amnot, than what I am. A shadow is nothing but an absence of light; I deal in desire, and desire only happens when there is something someone lacks.’
‘What is it you think I lack?’
She leaned in close to her, their lips brushing, and whispered, ‘Acceptance. Understanding.Love. I can give all you those things.’
Cybil pushed her away. Richter allowed it, releasing her hair from her grip.
‘I do notrequireyourlove,’ Cybil said. ‘And I am not so foolish as to entertain someone—something—like you.’
The wind roared, the trees shook; lightning cracked the sky in half. For a moment, Richter somehow blurred, becoming only an impression of darkness—then, abruptly, she was human again.
‘You are stubborn,’ she said. ‘I ought to have expected that. I saw you picking that tapestry apart, blood dripping like garnets from your fingers, eyes filling with tears—but still, you continued, until the blood had dried and you were numb to the pain.’
‘Have you beenwatchingme?’
She gave her a pitying look. ‘Oh, darling. Of course I have.’
Cybil, attempting to hide her trembling, turned around and began to walk away.
‘Your mother will never thank you for your love of her, you know,’ Richter called. Cybil paused. ‘Just as your father never thanked you, either. To them you were and always will be a burden, one who must atone for her very existence. And the villagers, too—what you did for them, scaring Martingale away. Why do you give so much to these people, when they offer you nothing in return?’
