The Captive Heir

Chapter Seventeen

Despite the vagueness of Skylar's directions, they were only traveling for a few hours before they found their path blocked by a small ravine. Going around would not have been difficult, but it would have required changing their trajectory. Perhaps that was what Skylar had meant by not being able to travel north anymore.

Unwilling to waste time deliberating, Elisabet sharply pulled her mount to the right, leading them east. She would ride east until they hit the Citaken border, if necessary. If they lost a day and a half in the process, well, that would be on Skylar, and she would see him pay for it.

Almost to her surprise—and certainly to Patrick's—she had made the correct decision. Another two hours of riding, and the forest was thickening around them, birds flitting by and chittering to each other in larger numbers than they had ever seen before, and the air almost felt heavier. More potent. They must be getting close.

Patrick slowed his mount, glancing around them apprehensively.

"Elisabet," he said. "This feels..."

Elisabet did not look back, did not slow down. "I know."

"Do we even know what we're looking for?" he asked. "A cave or hollow tree or something?"

"She's a witch, not a toadstool."

If Elisabet felt like being honest—which she did not—she would have admitted that she had no idea what the witch's lair would look like. Skylar had told her how to get there, not what would be waiting at the end. She could only hope, as she had through this entire ride, that she would know when she found it.

Then, pressed between the trees, they saw it: a squat, wooden cottage, so ugly it could have only belonged to the disheveled creature Elisabet sought. The roof was mossy and half-rotted, vines had claimed most of the outside, and even the air around the building seemed dusty and uncared-for. Not a breath of wind stirred the wilting leaves on the vines, while a thin puff of smoke issued listlessly from the chimney.

Elisabet dismounted and peered dubiously at the tiny structure. The inside had to be at least as cramped as Skylar and Silvana's home. Patrick, still astride his steed, dodged a particularly low-swooping crow as he tried to maintain his narrow-eyed watch over the surrounding area. Would he even fit inside the door?

"Perhaps one of us should..."

"Stay outside?" Patrick supplied.

"You stand guard." He seemed eager to wait outside, as did the horses. "If we both barge in, she could feel threatened."

He smiled wryly. "Yes, we wouldn't want to frighten the witch."

Given the lengths to which her parents had gone to ensure the witch did not feel under attack, Elisabet could only imagine what two armed adults bursting into her tiny home might make her do.

Elisabet kept her weapon sheathed, then, as she approached the ratty structure. She did not bother keeping her footsteps quiet. If Orenda did not know they were there, then she was a poor excuse for a witch.

There was no flicker of life from inside the house, save the weak stream of smoke signaling a dying fire. The two grimy windows merely showed the still, dark shadows within, and while the surrounding wildlife seemed more active than ever, there was only silence inside the structure.

"Orenda!" Elisabet called at the door. A rat dashed past, but there was no answer from the house's occupant. If indeed there was an occupant.

"Maybe she's not here," Patrick called from behind a tree.

It was possible. Or the witch was not deigning to reply. Elisabet glanced up at the smoke. Someone was there or had been recently. She tried again. "Orenda!"