Page 5 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“Well,” he whispered, leaning in, “a girl’s gone missing.”

Niamh gasped so loudly that the scullery maids at the other end of the kitchen squealed. I shushed my friend as she leaned toward Maxence, her voice low. “Vampires?”

I glanced sideways at her. Niamh was born and raised in Valnar, where over half of the population was vampire. Her mother even lived above a baker’s shop run by a human and his vampire wife, who was friendly enough. In the castle, though, we were surrounded by the most powerful of their kind. They were beautiful and impossibly wealthy. I often found it difficult not to lose my nerve when we crossed paths.

Maxence shrugged. “No evidence either way, I don’t think. She was taken from the Trade District and everything they’ve found points to murder. They’re warning young ladies to be careful while out alone until they catch whoever did it.”

“If you’re so concerned, why are you still sending girls into the city to run your master’s errands?” I asked dryly.

He shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything about any missing girl, and there haven’t been vampire attacks against humans in the capital for centuries,” I said. “Unless you count tavern brawls.”

Niamh paled. “That we know of.”

“Just be sure to watch your neck,” said Maxence, grinning.

“Why would you say that?” she squealed.

I rolled my eyes as he chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “Vampires don’t just walk around attacking humans at random, even the starving ones.”

My gaze flicked between the two of them. Niamh shot him an icy look, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s not funny,” she insisted, her lips pouting.

“He’s just pulling your leg, Niamh,” I said.

“I know that,” she insisted, her tone decidedly unconvincing.

“Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll stick to the high streets,” I assured her, rising.

She glanced up at me with wide eyes, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip. I patted her on the shoulder, tucking Maxence’s list into my pocket. “Wait!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “I’ll join you. I’ve been meaning to see the seamstress and Mama, anyway. I’m sure she’d love to have you over for dinner.”

I caught the brief pall of disappointment that flickered across Maxence’s features, the realization dawning on me that I had likely foiled his plot to get Niamh to himself for a few hours.

“I would be grateful for your company,” I said to her, smiling. “If only to prove to you that there’s nothing to be worried about.” I leaned toward her as we headed for our quarters, whispering in her ear, “Besides, if there really is a killer on the loose, I’d hate to see him come up against a fearsome witch such as I.” She beamed back at me.

“Will you animate a broom and sweep him to death?” she whispered, sending us both into fits of laughter.

From the bridge that connected the castle to the city proper we could see the entire capital. Every new moon, it would be crowded with a queue of citizens from the far reaches of Valen, all waiting patiently for an audience with the King himself.

Some would pass the entire evening here just for the opportunity to beseech King Mordric for his aid. Depending on the question at hand, he might pledge funds from the royal coffers, or the strength of his military in response to their pleas. Other times, he would make a final ruling on matters of the law. It took great courage, I mused, to air your most desperate grievances to the King and his council.

The scent of snow hung in the air. Felmas, God of Winter, had truly settled into his reign. The Tirlif River flowed beneath the bridge, snaking its way from here to the city’s eastern border, and then on into the Great Sea. I avoided the city’s bustling port as often as I could. Merchants moored their ships there, their captains prepared to ferry Valnar’s goods to far-off lands, and the damp smell of freshly caught trout was enough to wrinkle your nose, not to mention that the docks ran rife with unruly sailors who hadn’t stepped foot on land for months.

Niamh and I hurried past the grandiose homes of Valnar’s nobility, which were nestled into the foot of the hill upon which the castle sat. They would leave Valnar after the summer solstice, retreating to their country estates until the social season started up again in midwinter. For now, their gilded carriages racketed violently past us as their drivers urged their horses to pick up the pace.

A tangled network of alleyways led to the outskirts of the city, where the poorer folk packed themselves into humble houses thatched in straw. They weren’t much, but even the poorest of Valnar lived in better conditions than most of the folk I had known in Wealdstone.

When I first arrived in Valnar, it had taken some time for me to become accustomed to the bustling city. My home was sleepy and quiet. I had known everyone, and they had known me, although not as well as they thought. Valnar, on the other hand, was brimming with life. It was noisy and colorful, if a bit dirty, I thought as I sidestepped a muddy puddle brimming with gods knew what.

In the central square, merchants of all kinds plied their goods. We squeezed past a cart stacked high with spidery yellow wintersweet, the air ripe with their lemony scent. Children laughed as they kicked around a leather ball while their mother haggled with a merchant over the price of turnips.

In the heart of the city stood a stone tower where it was said that the very first King of Valen had proclaimed an end to the civil war that preceded the kingdom’s founding. The realm had long been at peace, barring some minor skirmishes, and the tower now held a massive brass bell that kept time for the capital’s citizens.

We ducked into the apothecary first. The place smelled of vinegar—I imagined due to some kind of concoction fermenting in the back room. Elixirs, potions, and salves glistened on the pinewood shelves. The apothecary kept the most valuable items behind the counter, away from sticky-fingered patrons. He held out his wrinkled hand for my list as I approached the counter, recognizing me as palace staff from my previous visits. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he deciphered the seneschal’s scribbles before turning to pluck the wares off of his shelves.

I tapped my fingers against the counter as we waited, then swept the items into my satchel the moment he set them down, fishing a handful of silver coins from my purse and placing them with a clink on the counter. The apothecary nodded in approval as he gathered them into his hands. We stopped next at the chandlery, where six tallow candles in the shape of wyverns were wrapped in paper and stuffed into my bag. The shopkeeper seemed eager to close up, mumbling something about an incoming storm despite the clear skies above us. It was growing late, though, and we would have to hurry if we wanted to finish our errands before the shops closed.

At the blacksmith, I bumped—quite literally—into Ewan as I rushed into the workshop. “Sorry,” I said, stepping back. His skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, the shop warm with heat from the massive forge in its center. Soot was sprinkled across his nose like freckles.