Amelia Atwater-Rhodes - Bloodwitch

I grabbed a fallen stick and used it to drag a trail in the dirt and snow around me as I walked. Occasionally I made arrow marks to indicate my direction. I thought about adding my name—Calysta had shown me how to write it once—but couldn’t remember all the marks required. Instead, I took my quetzal form just long enough to reach back with my beak and pluck a tail feather. After I returned to human form, I stuck the long feather in the snow so that it poked up where it seemed most visible.

There. If anyone saw it, they would follow the trail to find me.

Feeling better about my chances, if not any warmer, I started out.

At first I sang as I walked, but then singing reminded me of Calysta, which made my throat tight and made me feel even colder, so I stopped. When I was silent, though, every noise around me made me jump. Distant crashing sounded like a monster. And was that a roar? What lived in this forest?

That roar could have belonged to a lion or a jaguar. My neck ached from trying to look all ways at once, including up, since jaguars could attack from the trees. What about wolves or bears?

Lady Brina loved to talk about savage beasts, which she found beautiful and exotic. I had never asked where they existed, because all that mattered to me was that they didn’t exist in my world.

I yelped as a figure emerged from the forest’s shadows, like a ghost stepping into my path. I raised my stick, then set it back down as I realized he was a man, not a monster, holding a small lamp that illuminated little beyond our feet.

“I thought I heard someone stumbling around.” He raised the lamp. “Aren’t you Brina’s boy?”

The light was in my eyes, but I finally recognized Malachi Obsidian, the trader who had come by the greenhouse the day before.

“My name is Vance,” I said. “You’re Malachi, right?”

“This isn’t the safest area to wander, Vance,” he replied.

“If it’s not safe, what are you doing here?” I asked defensively, one breath before I realized his words could have been a threat instead of a warning. Though his hands were empty at the moment, he had a slender sword—really more of a long dagger—at his left hip, and a bow and quiver on his back.

The retort apparently took him aback. He frowned and said, “You’re not broken.”

“Not what ?” I hoped he could help me find my way home, but the intensity of his stare was making me uncomfortable.

“Are you a slave?” he asked.

“No!” I said vehemently, before I remembered what Lady Brina had said about Calysta: on loan from Taro . Had she been a slave? “And I’m allowed to be out here. I’m just lost.”

“Are you happy?” he asked. Seeing my look, he added, “Not right now, obviously. I mean when you’re at the greenhouse. Are you happy there?”

“Yes,” I answered, grateful for an easier question. I almost added more, about the things that had just happened—the painting, Calysta, Lady Brina, and Lord Daryl’s rage—but I bit my lip. I had lived there for fourteen years, and nothing like this had ever happened before.

“Then I’ll help you find your way back. In the morning,” he added firmly. “It’s pitch-black out here. You can come to my camp for the night. I have enough dinner to share.”

My stomach chose that moment to growl, reminding me that it had been a long time since I had eaten more than a few bites of bread. It had been easy to ignore while I wandered lost and frightened, but I wasn’t going to turn down food.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to recall all of Taro’s lessons on proper manners. “I appreciate the help.”

He snickered at my attempt to be polite and turned to lead the way. One step later he paused to look back and say, “No, leave the stick. We don’t want to encourage anyone else to find us.”

I gripped my stick more tightly despite my cold fingers. “But I want to be found!” I argued.

“In this forest all sorts of things could come looking for you. I’m not going to force you to follow me,” he said, “but I’m not going to let you leave a path to my camp, either. Make up your mind.”

He turned and started to walk away without giving me a chance to decide. What if Malachi Obsidian was one of those people Taro had talked about who could be a danger to me? I had no way of knowing. What I did know for certain was that starving and freezing were bad, which meant I didn’t have a choice. I dropped the stick and followed my new guide through the trees.

Rustling nearby caused him to halt, his hand moving slowly toward his bow.

I came up beside him and saw what had made the noise: a sleek-coated stag, standing like a statue, staring at our light with its black-tipped tail raised in alarm. He could have stepped directly out of Lady Brina’s painting of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt. She had worked on that series, which she called Proud Ladies, as long as she had worked on Tamoanchan .

My guts twisted at the reminder. The painting. Calysta. The guards.

A small sound escaped my throat, and the stag bolted.

“We couldn’t hunt it anyway,” my guide said with a sigh. He continued walking, speaking without looking at me. “Jeshickah has some very old-world laws regarding deer on her land.”

I stumbled, so shocked by his words that I lost my footing and fell, letting out a yelp as my bare hands landed in the snow.

Malachi paused and grasped my arm to help me up. “You all right?” he asked.

Never, never in my life had I heard Mistress Jeshickah referred to without a title. If I had done so, or even spoken of Lady Brina that way, Taro would have slapped me. I would have deserved it. How dare he?

I opened my mouth to challenge him—and then shut it fast, dropping my gaze. I was at his mercy for the moment. “I’m fine,” I answered. “I tripped on … on a rock.”

He hadn’t apologized for the slip or questioned my lie about why I fell, which meant … he didn’t expect me to care. My mind turned that thought over like a pebble, because it wasn’t quite right.

Malachi knew where I came from. He had thought I was a slave, but now he knew that I was happy with Lady Brina. He should expect me to care.

Was he testing me?

“We’re here,” Malachi announced, interrupting my train of thought.

“Where?” I asked. I saw nothing but more trees and brush, covered in the seemingly endless snow.

“Here,” he said, putting an arm across my shoulders to usher me forward.

The camp, invisible just a moment before, was suddenly clear as daylight. A grove of birch trees ringed the small clearing, at the center of which a covered cooking pot sat on merrily glowing coals. Most of the snow within the grove had been packed down or brushed away, leaving a smooth-topped log near the fire for a seat. The tent emerged from the space beyond like something organic, half buried in the snow, with a small gap open to the warmth of the fire.

Magic , I thought. Was Malachi a witch? All I knew about them I had learned from overheard complaints from Lord Daryl and Lady Brina. Witches were greedy, mercenary creatures. They were needed for things like the spells on the greenhouse, but they couldn’t be trusted.

“Did Brina send you away, or did you go on your own?” Malachi asked casually as he lifted the copper lid to check on his food.

Lady Brina, I thought instinctively. A few minutes ago the guilty fear in my gut would have forced the whole story out like a confession. Now I didn’t trust this man enough to want to share the horrors of the last few hours.

I settled for a half truth. “I tried to go for a walk,” I answered. “I got lost.”

My host looked up, sea-foam eyes piercing. I braced myself, expecting to be accused of lying. Instead, he asked, “How old are you?”