Amelia Atwater-Rhodes - Bloodwitch

I returned to the ground and paced in a circle. Why did my greenhouse suddenly feel so small ? Why could I not get the image of that painted quetzal, flying above a flowering tree full of jewels and blood, out of my head?

I walked to the stream and knelt to dip my hands in the cool water.

Without quite knowing why, I found my hands closing around one of the rocks on the streambed. Impulse took me, and with a quetzal’s short, quavering cry, I flung the stone with all my strength.

The instant it was out of my hand, I realized my heart was pounding in my throat. How would I explain the shattered glass? Worse, how would I explain why I had damaged the beautiful stained-glass mosaic?

I flinched in anticipation of a crash that never came.

The stone bounced off the magic-imbued glass, which sparkled in the aftermath of the blow.

I looked around guiltily, but no one had seen. The stranger was still sleeping near the doorway, Calysta was still cleaning the studio, and no one else was around.

What was I doing ?

And why ?

I felt so lost.

I CRAWLED INTOmy bed and dragged an extra blanket over myself, afraid to do anything else. I tried to breathe slowly, to calm my racing heart, but I ended up tossing and turning all night. When I woke the storm had let up, though the light that made its way through the greenhouse walls still had a cool, gray quality to it.

I went to the stream, where I stripped and submerged myself in the warm waters. The restless night had left all my muscles tense. I didn’t see anyone on my way there or back—Malachi, or Calysta—and for the moment I was glad to be alone.

I retreated to my house, dried off, and dressed again. I waved the cook away and set to baking bread, hoping the usually soothing, rhythmic work of kneading the dough would help calm me, but the stickiness and the bittersweet smell of the sourdough culture only made my stomach turn and the crawling sensation along my arms dig its way deeper into my muscles.

I left the bread to rise and examined the guarded door to the world beyond my greenhouse, wondering what would happen if I tried to leave. The guards were protecting the greenhouse from something outside, right? Not guarding me . Maybe I could just walk up and open the door. Peek outside. I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to look. That couldn’t be too dangerous, could it?

I hoped Taro would come that evening so I could talk to him more about the outside world and what my role in it was. He had talked about my learning to protect myself and Lady Brina. Did that mean he would teach me to fight? To be a guard?

When sunset passed with no sign of Taro, I approached the greenhouse door again. It would have been unusual for him to come two nights in a row, but I had so been hoping.…

I knew the guards were standing just outside, but I couldn’t see them through the colored glass. I might as well have been alone in the world. Would the door open if I pushed it? All at once, I was sure it wouldn’t. I was locked in. Trapped.

Lady Brina’s amused voice fluttered through my mind: They say a quetzal can’t survive in a cage. Ironic, isn’t it?

Heart pounding so hard I was dizzy from it, I reached for the door, lifted the latch, and shoved.

Frigid air whipped around me. The world outside my greenhouse was apparently dark and freezing. I wrapped my arms around my chest and hunched my head down against the wet-and-cold that was falling from the sky.

Snow , I told myself. Calysta had described it to me once. It had sounded pretty then. Now it was just cold. I started shivering immediately and had to keep blinking water out of my eyelashes. How could people survive out here?

The four guards all tensed, spinning toward me. One asked, “Is everything all right, sir?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked, “Am I allowed to leave?”

They exchanged meaningful glances. One said, “We’ve been ordered to protect this door, sir, not to keep anyone from leaving.”

The darkness seemed to press in around me. One of the guards held a lamp, but it did little to illuminate more than a hint of the path near us.

“Which way would I go?” I asked.

“The path divides,” one of the guards answered. “To the north it goes toward the di’Birgetta estate. To the west it goes toward the market, and Midnight proper.”

The di’Birgetta estate had to be where Lady Brina and Lord Daryl lived. I didn’t know what the other two places were.

One of the guards added, “You wouldn’t want to go as you are now, sir. You would freeze to death.”

He was right. The guards were all wearing heavy clothes: cloaks, boots, gloves, and hats. I was shivering against the wind, even though I could still feel the magically warm air of the greenhouse at my back.

“Is it always like this out here?” I asked. I had thought the storm was over, but there was still snow falling.

“Not always,” the guards answered, “but it is winter.”

I was just about to turn around and go back inside, thanking the fates that I didn’t need to go out in that disgusting weather, when I saw lights approaching from the direction the guard had called north. As they drew closer, I saw Lady Brina’s studio slaves.

“Is Lady Brina coming back tonight?” I asked the guards.

“Yes, she is,” one answered me. “We’ve been ordered to tidy the studio and start the lamps so she can reveal her completed masterpiece to Lord Daryl.”

He had barely finished speaking when Lady Brina herself appeared in the doorway, inches away from me. I jumped back. Since she appeared under the awning and hadn’t needed to hike through the woods, she was perfectly dry—a sharp contrast to my own damp and shivering state.

“Boy, you’re a mess,” she chastised me. “Soaking wet. Go pretty yourself up before you embarrass me.”

The words brought a bright flush to my face, and I hurried back to my cabin to dry off and put on fresh clothes. I was pulling on a shirt when Lady Brina screamed. The noise made the glass around us ring in response and shocked the last of the chill from my blood. I raced toward her, vaulting the stream when I came to it and ignoring the branches that whipped my face when I failed to duck in time.

The smell hit me first as I reached the alcove where Brina did her work. The noxious odor coming from the dimly lit clearing assaulted my nose and made me stagger backward. I couldn’t identify it; it was like nothing I had ever smelled before. I had to force myself forward, but every instinct made me want to recoil and vomit.

Brina was holding a lamp up in front of her canvas, trembling.

“It’s … it’s …”

“My lady, what’s wrong?” I asked. I couldn’t see the canvas itself, and I was afraid to walk around to get a better look.

“Ruined,” she said. “It’s ruined.”

A fly rose up and settled on her cheek, making her shriek again and fall back. I caught her arm, trying to stabilize her, but she shoved me away, sending me sprawling backward, too. I landed hard on my left hand, twisting my wrist, and yelped in pain.

“How dare she?” Brina whispered, spinning away. She walked toward her easel again, running her fingers through her black hair, pulling out the combs and sticks that had held it up.

I stood cradling my hurt hand, then approached. I tried not to smell … whatever it was.

My first thought was that Calysta had spilled paint all over many of Lady Brina’s brushes and splashed it on her masterpiece. No wonder she was furious.

I moved closer, wondering if I could clean anything up. If the paint was still wet, I might be able to …