Page 114 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

He nodded. “Then I suggest we leave it here for the evening and try again tomorrow.”

I grunted in response, wiping the blade clean on my breeches before slamming it into its sheath.

At supper, Enhart and I sat opposite each other in our small dining room, the silence broken only by the scraping of pewter against porcelain. I held my fork gingerly in my bandaged hand.

“You look tired,” Enhart observed, watching me over the rim of his glass.

I scowled. “Why is that always the first thing a man says when he thinks a woman looks terrible?”

“I don’t think you look terrible,” he replied.

“Of course not,” I replied sardonically.

He cocked his head. “You’re combative tonight. More than usual.”

“I’m frustrated,” I replied through gritted teeth.

“About your dreams?”

I shot him a dark glance. Of course he could hear me screaming in the middle of the night. At least he hadn’t shaken me awake again. “No.”

“I see. Ivor is an excellent teacher, you know. You’ll get there.”

“I’m not frustrated with Ivor.”

“Who then?”

“You!” I cried. “And Mordric. And anyone whose stupid idea it was to bring me to this awful place.”

He stilled, his face annoyingly placid. “I told you, you have to try.”

“Why?” I shot back, not caring who overheard. “When will it ever be enough? I’m out there standing up to my ankles in mud, slitting my veins open so that the gods might see fit to bestow upon me a power I don’t even want.”

“I didn’t want you to have to bleed for it,” he said. “In fact, I—”

“You what?” I snarled. “What could you possibly have to say to me that you haven’t already? For all your self-proclaimed knowledge, you can’t even teach me yourself. Neither you nor Ivor can even give me a good reason as to why I have to do this. Why do I—”

“Because you will die!” he shouted, coming to his feet. The white-hot fury that radiated off of him nearly scorched me from across the table.

I inhaled sharply. In the dwindling candlelight, his green eyes were nearly black. He had never reminded me more of Mordric. “What?”

His lip quivered as he spoke. “If you do not learn to control the Ealdorfyre, you will die. It will consume you from the inside.”

As if in response to his words, the heat beneath my skin surged. The back of my neck grew slick with sweat. “How could you possibly know that?” I whispered.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see it,” he said sharply. “It’s burning you alive.”

I faltered.

“And I refuse to go through that again.”

“Go through what?”

He turned away from me and toward the hearth, his shoulders hunched. “Please,” I begged, closing the distance between us until I stood at his back. “Help me understand.”

The fire crackled, spitting ash up the chimney as the beleaguered logs smoldered and collapsed. The breeze wafted in through the open window, rustling the scarlet roses that adorned the table. When he finally spoke, his tone was laced with bitterness. “You remember my memory? The one you saw by accident?”

The woman. It was impossible for me to forget her face. “Yes,” I said.