Page 15 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Except, what?”

I straightened, wiping my hands on my apron. “Ewan wasn’t trying to take me anywhere, Niamh. He was trying to kill me.”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes wide. “So if it was him—”

“—then they’re not going to find that girl alive.”

I arrived in the Winter Garden just before the bell tolled eight times. I’d exchanged my uniform for my nicest dress, a black hand-me-down from the maid who’d held my post before me. The hem didn’t quite reach my ankles, and it was loose in the bodice, but it was far more comfortable than the scratchy, graying uniform I had grown used to wearing day in and day out.

I pulled my fur wrap tighter around my shoulders as the breeze tousled my long tresses and the pleasant scent of the lavender oil I’d dabbed behind my ears reached my nose. Lady Reardon had gifted me the wrap when I was still a maid in her household. The inner lining was moth-eaten, but it appeared decent enough on the outside and was by far the nicest garment I owned. I caught sight of my reflection in the paned lancet windows that looked into the great hall, turning slightly to get my best angle.

I might not pass for nobility, but at least there was no blood on my face tonight. I shuddered, the sickening squelch that had signaled Ewan’s death ringing in my ears.

“Finn.”

My breath caught in my chest at the sight of the King. He wore a fine navy coat with fur trim at the neck. His black hair was pulled back at the crown. The role of king suited him, self-assurance radiating off of him like heat from a smoldering log. I dropped into a curtsy. He approached, smiling, and offered me his arm. “I’m so glad you came. Sit with me?”

I nodded silently, my tongue seemingly glued to the roof of my mouth. I slipped my arm beneath his, my fingers brushing his sleeve. He led me to a stone bench where we sat surrounded by night-blooming roses. The palace gardens were home to the most magnificent array of flowers, expertly curated by the royal groundskeeper. My eyes traced the sharp points of their thorns. There were so few flowers in Wealdstone, as nearly all our water had to be reserved for crops.

I realized the King was watching me and ducked my chin, flushing.

“It’s a shame that we were brought together under such dreadful circumstances,” he said pensively. “It seems that I arrived just in time.”

The memory of Ewan’s disembodied remains gave me pause. I could see him clearly in my mind. The vacant, terrifying look in his eyes. The dark stains on his coat that resembled the dried bloodstains on my own uniform. I’d shoved it into a drawer upon returning to my bedchamber this morning, too exhausted to bring it to Sigrid. Whose blood had been on Ewan’s cloak? His own? Or the missing girl’s?

I took a deep breath. “If I may, Your Majesty, what’s going to be done about the blacksmith’s apprentice?”

“I dispatched a patrol from my guard shortly after we returned to the castle to clean up the mess,” he replied simply.

I grimaced. “That’s very, er, prudent of you. However, I meant what’s going to be done about the other missing girl?”

“So, you’ve heard about that.”

I nodded. “I thought that perhaps the attacks were connected. Folk in the city are on edge.”

“So I’m told. I’m afraid it’s beginning to spin out of control,” he said pensively. “Unfortunately, when you’re king, you come to understand that this kind of thing is far more common than you think. Especially between quarreling friends or lovers.”

My skin burned. Violence was not unfamiliar to me, and more than one husband in Wealdstone had beaten his wife without fear of reproach. Still, I had the King’s ear now, and curiosity smoldered in my chest like an ember. “I know what it’s like to suffer loss,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain upon anyone. If it would help, I’d be happy to speak with the captain of your guard. Perhaps something I saw could help find the girl, or at least bring closure to her family.”

A beat passed between us. “You have no idea how refreshing it is to have a conversation with someone whose greatest care in the world is not for themselves.” He inclined his head. “I will put my best people on it,” he promised. “Like you said, the least we can do is to provide some closure to her family.”

My voice came out in a whisper. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said. “How’s your head, by the way?”

“Better,” I said. “Dr. Murrows’s tonic helped.”

He paused, concern etched into his handsome features. “You’re unable to heal yourself?”

I flushed. “I’m afraid I’m not very practiced in healing.”

He was silent for a moment. “What sort of magic are you practiced in?”

I blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change in conversation. “I’m not used to speaking of it so openly, Your Majesty. But I’m rather good at enchantments, like what you saw with the broom. Simple illusions, too.”

“And what about psychal magic? Are you able to get a sense of others’ feelings? See into their thoughts?”

“I’m quite sensitive to others’ desires and emotions,” I admitted.