Page 102 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

I shook my head, glancing at the clouds that had grown dark and angry. “We should press on. I’d hate to get caught here in a storm.”

“We’re likely to get caught in the storm anyway, so it would be better to find shelter,” he pointed out.

I scanned the great expanse ahead of us. There were no settlements this high up, human or vampire. “What do you suggest we do, then?” I asked.

“We’ll soon come across an old army garrison’s barracks. It hasn’t been used in nearly a century. Not since Mordric decided that it was too cruel to station anyone here, anyway. He told me it was usable, though, in case there was an urgent need.”

“Fine,” I relented, as snowflakes melted against the skin of my cheeks.

“It’s just a few miles ahead,” he said. “Can you make it?”

I shot him a dark look. “I’m not some pathetic damsel, you know. I’ve weathered worse storms than this.”

“Alright, alright.”

We trudged on for what seemed like hours as the snow piled steadily higher and higher. If there were wightgasts on our tail, I could only hope that they had been waylaid by the storm.

After some time, I spotted the stout twin towers of the barracks. It was a small, fortified structure with a stone wall shielding it from the road. Enhart pulled Grim to a halt as we approached. “The door is frozen shut,” he observed.

My heart sank. The snow was falling so thickly by now that I could barely see past my own nose. Peering closer, I realized that ice had spread like veins over the rusty steel, weeding its way into the hinges and latches. It rendered the doors useless.

Enhart cocked his head. “Go ahead.”

“Oh,” I whispered. The massive steel door was far larger than a kettle or a bathtub full of water, but it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. I leaned forward, gathering Arlys’s reins in one hand.

“No,” ordered Enhart, stopping me in my tracks. “You shouldn’t have to dismount. What’s the point of even having magic if you have to walk around touching everything you want to enchant?”

“Does this have to be a lesson?” I groaned.

“Practical applications are key,” he replied matter-of-factly. “The added threat of freezing to death should be encouragement enough.”

I cursed him under my breath.

“I heard that,” he quipped.

With a deep breath, I called upon my power, letting it unspool like a thread from my outstretched fingers. Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cold as I concentrated my will on the lock. The door groaned in protest, the ice melting off in rivulets that flowed away in a stream of my making. When it was finally clear, I opened my palm, releasing a burst of air that knocked the doors wide open. I grinned, triumphant.

“Very good,” said Enhart, urging his mount forward.

Dropping out of our saddles, we led the horses to a small stable where they could keep warm for the evening. Hay bales had been stacked neatly against the far wall, and the dirt floors were clear of any debris or droppings.

“They keep it fully stocked in case the King ever decides to station troops here again,” said Enhart, as he removed the gear and saddles from the horses. “I imagine that the caretaker comes out here once a month or so.”

Arlys leaned against me as I rubbed her ears and pulled a blanket over her back. I grinned as she released a gentle sigh. She was an ornery thing, but traversing that pass was no small feat for a pony. She deserved a good night’s rest.

Wind whistled through the empty stone corridors inside the keep, kicking up dust around our feet. I trailed after the prince, squinting my eyes against the dark as we traveled down a long corridor. Enhart moved around the barracks as if they were familiar to him, showing me where to store my pack and lay my head.

I held my breath as I peered into the officer’s room he had chosen for me, praying that I didn’t see any rats scampering across the floor. I was in luck. There was no living creature lying in wait apart from a spider that hung from its web in the rafters. The room was simple, with a desk and a single bed tucked into the corner. Far better than camping on the side of the road.

To my disappointment, there was no bathtub to be found. I had hoped against all odds for a warm soak after spending the day frozen to a horse’s saddle. Still, Enhart had been able to locate a small store of fresh water, and so I would make do with washing myself standing over a basin.

When I was sufficiently clean, I rooted through my bags for anything that wasn’t caked in sweat or dirt. I pulled out a woolen dress. The fabric was stiff, but it would do. I found that I was warm enough to forgo a cloak, despite the steam that unfurled from my nostrils when I took a breath. Closing my door carefully behind me, I followed a dim light dancing along the corridors to the kitchen where Enhart was busy rifling through the provisions.

“Are we allowed to take those?” I asked.

“You do realize who you’re traveling with, right?” he asked, pulling out a sack of flour.

I rolled my eyes, scanning the mess of provisions before us. On the road, the guest houses were often accompanied by a cook happy to serve us a hot meal while we rested our aching bones. Those that were empty were stocked with provisions for our use—hard cheeses, salted meats, and long-keeping bread that could chip a tooth. I dipped my hand into a crate filled with sand, my fingertips meeting the rounded edge of a leek. I pulled it out, an idea forming.