Page 25 of Witch’s Ruin

He glanced my way, looking for help, but I only took another step back. I might have interceded on his behalf, but this…this was just too much. Rixon’s frown deepened.

“You…you don’t remember me?” Her eyes began to glitter. “Trudy Holland? My father’s Lord Diego Holland—your father’s advisor.”

“Oh, of course! Miss Holland,” Rixon said, snapping his fingers. He didn’t remember—I could see it in his expression. But hers? Hers lit up.

I suppressed a groan.

“There! I knew I’d jog your memory. We used to play together as toddlers in the nursery, until, well, until my mother died, remember? My father took me and my siblings back to Darbyfort.”

“Yes. Yes of course.” Rixon said. He still didn’t remember. I was shaking now, trying so very hard not to let my laughter burst free. I didn’t want to draw her attention. Trudy seemed oblivious of my presence. The poor thing. She only had eyes for Rixon.

She was slender, on the taller side, dressed extravagantly—her father was a lord, after all—with curly red hair the color of fire. Her hair was rather beautiful. Her age was hard to judge, but she appeared several years older than me, which would make sense, if she had played with Rixon as a toddler. He was thirty now, having recently celebrated a birthday right before we departed from Rockfall.

I glanced down at her gloved hand. She wasn’t married, if she was still going by her father’s surname. Odd, for a female her age, not that I was judging.

“Forgive me, Miss Holland, but I really must be going.”

Trudy’s face drooped. “Right. But of course. I…I hadn’t meant to disturb your walk.” Her eyes finally turned towards me. I offered a slow, mischievous grin. Her throat bobbed; she took a step back. Even without showing my darkness, she second-guessed any sort of introduction between us. I wasn’t keen to give one, despite the comical nature of this entire situation.

“Right,” she said again, smoothing her gown, looking back at Rixon. “Well, Aleksander, it was a pleasure to see you again. I am so glad for your return.” With that, she bowed and turned, striding away.

Only then did I let my raucous laughter burst free. My voice echoed and I caught a glimpse of Trudy, turning to glare at me over her shoulder, before continuing on her way. That only made me laugh harder. Rixon thumped me on the back.

“Are you quite all right, Lady Witch?” he asked, sounding more annoyed than anything.

“Oh…yes…quite,” I managed between gasping breaths. “The look…your face…oh, gods!”

“Yes. Thank you, for your timely assistance.”

“Gods,” I breathed again, finally standing upright, wiping the tears from my eyes. “You had no idea who that poor girl was, did you?”

“No fucking idea,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Well, she certainly remembered you.” I linked my arm through his. He merely narrowed his eyes, doing his best to glower, before we continued on towards the docks.

Poor Rixon.

I was eager to see the port. I’d seen glimpses from a few vantage points in the palace, massive apparatuses rising well above the buildings, to offload cargo from ships. But nothing prepared me for the sight when we arrived.

It reminded me of the Citadel, for how small it made me feel. Like an ant. Massive warehouses gave way to large, open areas with mountains of crates. “They’re called cranes,” Rixon explained when he saw me gazing, open mouthed, at the tall structures fitted with ropes and pulleys. Some of them were in use, lowering over the decks of ships, lifting clusters of goods contained within nets, swinging sideways, depositing them onto the ground.

It was a beehive of activity. People rushed about, unloading, moving, transporting. Orders were shouted, punctuating the din of conversation between employees and sailors.

It was a sight. I simply stood there, my arm in Rixon’s, watching. We must have looked on for ten minutes or more, before we began to walk again.

“I’d like to see the sea, the beach, while we’re here,” I told him. We’d seen it in the distance, just beyond the city, when we’d rode in. It would be good for Jarrow and Farrah.

I’d never seen an ocean before, but I’d read of them plenty. Sand and salty water. I was eager.

“I think we can arrange that,” Rixon mused, running his fingers over mine. I squeezed his arm in answer. Then we began making our way back to the palace.

* * *

My gown arrived just before dinner—delivered by one of Marvin Downing’s assistants, flanked by two servants whom I didn’t recognize. Rixon was at the new liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass, while I removed the wrappings and held the dress against me. The back was a series of intricate buttons, at least twenty of them, for which I’d need Rixon’s assistance.

I sighed at my reflection in the mirror, swishing the silk about as I held it to me. With my black hair—growing blacker by the day—the blue looked lovely. The gold sash added just the right pop of brightness.

I glanced over to find Rixon leaning against the sofa, watching me. His expression was unreadable, but the spark in his gaze said enough. “I believe women have handmaidens for this sort of thing,” I said. “But alas, I shall have to appoint you for the job.”