“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 anddrawing 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.
