Page 96 of The Sun King's Noon

“That is none of your concern.”

“All of you is my concern.”

Richard stiffened as Galdran neared. Outside, a soldier bellowed a warning, and an eerie howl spilled over the camp. The chupacabras’ ambush. He’d lost six men that night.

Galdran’s eyes glowed and the din of battle silenced. “A baba yaga. That is what you describe, you understand. Sylari-born, most of them. You will not have an easy hour of it, beloved. They are not killed cleanly. They flit and fold their cottages, wander across realms, and are never quite dead.”

“I shall deal with it. Release me.”

“How inconvenient.” Galdran sighed. “I had hoped to introduce you to my council in this dreamland. They are eager to meet my Lumethain, and ask after you often.” He huffed. “But I should not like for you to be devoured by a cannibalistic crone. It would set rather a poor precedent.”

Suddenly, he was inches away, cupping a cool palm along Richard’s jaw. The pad of his thumb stroked across Richard’s cheekbone, then meandered down the side of his throat towards the Lumeron.

Richard caught Galdran’s hand before he could snag the collar back. “Leave it be.”

Galdran glided a finger across the collar’s fabric. “You will let me see our mark, the next we speak.” His words were soft, eyes half-lidded. “Won’t you? Just a glimpse. I do so like to be assured of it.”

Richard scoffed. “Ourmark?”

“Of course it is ours.” Galdran tilted his head with a smile. “The Lumethaid bear no marks, you see. Only the Lumethain wears the proof of our bond. Only you. That spiral of my essence upon your neck is all that says you are mine and I am yours. How cruel you are to keep it hidden from me.”

Richard bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Let. Me. Wake.”

Galdran rolled his eyes and let his hand fall. “Fine, fine. But wemusthave ourselves a proper conversation soon, beloved, about the manner in which Ardenia shall surrender. I have been exemplary in my patience, but my council grows restless, and Ishould not like to appear soft on the matter of my own husband’s kingdom.”

“You dare?—”

“Hush now.” Galdran wagged a finger before Richard’s nose. “Go save your children—though where you found more chicks to take on, I cannot fathom. And do mind the oven. Baba Yagas are nearly all fools about the oven.”

* * *

Richard woketo the pungent reek of boiling herbs and charred wood. His head hung forward, and immediately, he realised he’d been bound. His ankles were roped to the front legs of a chair, and his wrists lashed along the chair’s arms, with a knot that pulled tighter when he tested it. His sword was gone. His daggers were gone. And his mouth was gagged with a stale cloth.

He lifted his head.

The cottage was bigger inside than out. The kitchen stretched the length of a banquet hall, with a ceiling lost in shadow and rafters from which hung dried herbs, plucked birds and neatly rolled entrails. The walls were lined with shelves, full of jars with eyeballs, teeth, fingers and bones.

At the room’s centre, an enormous black cauldron bubbled over a low fire. The contents were an ugly green, sending up curls of glowing steam.

Above the cauldron, suspended on a chain from the rafters, swayed an iron cage. Four small faces pressed against the bars.

“Richard!” Jeya yelled, her face ashen and her wooden sword poking out through the gap. “Richard, help!”

“Hush, dearie,” came a crooning voice, “hush now, don’t disturb the gentleman.”

Richard glared. The crone stood between him and the cauldron, leaning on a staff. She had the shape of an old woman—white-haired bun, deep wrinkles and a humped back beneath her layered shawls. Her nose was crooked, and her hands too long at the fingers— three knuckles instead of two.

“There he is,” she cooed, shuffling closer. “Awake so soon. The young master.”

Richard tried to speak, but the gag turned his words into a muffled snarl. He thrashed against the ropes, the chair legs creaking, and the witch’s gummy smile widened.

“Oh, oh, what a temper. What a temper on this one.” She shuffled close, her nose almost bumping into Richard’s. “Now let old Yelka have a good look at you, dearie. Let her see.”

Her knobbly fingers closed about his chin and tilted his face towards the firelight. Her eyes bulged, and she went still.

“I know this face,” she breathed. “I know these eyes.”

She dug her nails into his cheeks and yanked him closer.