Page 2 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

Tucking the thread into my pocket, I continued down the corridor. I paused as I reached a familiar mahogany door, fishing a small, leather-bound book from my pocket.

“What are you doing here?”

I cursed silently as the seneschal’s insufferable apprentice stepped out from the shadows. “Tending to my duties, Maxence,” I replied. “Mrs. Cathers tasked me with tidying the library.”

“The library?” he parroted. “What use is that this close to the solstice?”

I shrugged. “I suppose even nobles know how to read.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” he warned. “There are quite a few vampires among them, and they can hear through stone.”

I scoffed. “That can’t be true.”

His brows shot toward the mess of dark waves atop his head. “You’ve served in King Mordric’s court for nearly three years now, and you don’t know that?”

“They don’t have vampires where I come from,” I replied. “Kings or otherwise.”

He rolled his eyes. “The Outlands are an anomaly.”

“I don’t disagree,” I continued. “Besides, we don’t have any on staff, if you don’t count the Royal Guard.”

“I don’t count them,” he replied. “And I know precisely who is on my staff, thank you very much.”

“Your staff?” I countered. As seneschal, Maxence’s master oversaw the upkeep of the castle and its many workers. And yet I hardly ever saw him. Instead, he offloaded most of his responsibilities to his apprentice, much to Mrs. Cathers’s chagrin. Maxence was only too pleased to take up his master’s mantle, adding to his already overinflated sense of authority.

His brown eyes narrowed. “What is that?” he exclaimed, snatching the book from my hands. “You don’t have time to read. This better not be from the library, either. The Lord Seneschal would have my head.”

I snorted. “As if you would take the blame for that. I found it in one of the rooms. I was just returning it.” I gestured to the book, a rather innocuous copy of Valen and its Storied Histories, a common find.

Maxence sniffed, dropping it back into my hands. “Fine,” he conceded. “Hurry up then.”

I bit back a retort. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have an irritable housekeeper to keep company?”

He coughed, the skin of his ears turning from olive to pink. “Important palace business,” he said finally. “Not that you would understand.”

I grinned as I felt the warmth of his embarrassment wash over me. The space between us pulsed, like the thrum of a pounding heart. My grandmother called it intuition—my uncanny ability to sense others’ emotions before they had even put them into words—but only because she didn’t understand it for what it truly was—or was afraid to admit it.

Magic.

“Not looking for Niamh, are you?” I asked.

His ears burned even brighter. “I have no interest in your friend, chambermaid,” he insisted. “I’m only doing my rounds to ensure that everything is in top shape for the celebration. Besides, I didn’t even see you here, scurrying around like a field mouse.”

“Then if you don’t mind …” I turned my back to him, cracking open the door.

“Be on your best behavior,” he warned before stalking off.

The library at Valnar Castle was lit by two fireplaces, one at either end, at the foot of which squatted plush armchairs in hues of emerald green and scarlet. Along the walls, staircases wrought of iron curled around themselves like serpents, leading to the second floor. I suspected that Mrs. Cathers only assigned me here due to its sheer size. Cleaning the library alone was a near-impossible task for an ordinary chambermaid.

I, however, was no ordinary chambermaid.

I turned the book over in my hands. An illusion had made it appear ordinary, when in fact, the chapter I was currently reading described how to enter the dreams of others. A frightening prospect, if my own dreams were any indication, and certainly not what I had been hoping for when I’d picked it up. I’d awoken the last few weeks slick with sweat, screams ringing in my ears, cobalt-blue flames flickering behind my eyelids. My nightmares were becoming more frequent, and I was convinced that there had to be some kind of spell or potion in this library that could tame them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be found in this book.

As a child in the village of Wealdstone, a mere speck in the vast region of the west known as the Outlands, I had heard many tales about the witches of old. Hateful creatures with rotted hearts who laid curses upon princes and turned their romantic rivals to stone with a simple look.

I’d never met another of my kind, not even in Valnar, and so I didn’t know for sure if the stories were true. My powers had materialized from nowhere when I was just a girl, coming and going in quick spurts with no discernible pattern, and fearing retribution, my family had sworn me to secrecy. Before the age of three and twenty—the year I’d left for Valnar—my greatest feat of sorcery had been heating the water for my morning tea simply by laying a hand on the kettle.

Not long after I’d secured a post at Valnar Castle, I happened upon a spellbook in the library—Practical Conjurings and Their Histories—that explained in great detail the optimal finger placements for enchantment of household objects. It was beginner magic, according to its author, but it allowed me to complete my duties in half the time.