The Captive Heir

Chapter Eighteen

Elisabet banged the witch's door open. "You threaten my brother?" she demanded, not caring if the witch was still on the cusp of death. "Over this stupid book?"

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw the witch shuffling past her, this time without needing the walls for support. She was recovering, then.

"I would say welcome, but I would not mean it," she said as she passed into the sitting room.

Elisabet followed her. "I would apologize, but I would not mean that, either."

A chuckle drifted back as the witch moved to the fireplace. "I am not surprised," she said, putting two cups down.

"You can threaten me all you like, but my brother—"

"Pour the water," the witch told her, nodding at the steaming kettle.

Elisabet wound the end of her belt around the handle, hefting it off its hook. "He is ten," she snapped, the hot water pouring out in a comforting stream. "If you wanted to involve innocents, why not start with someone a little—"

"Did you bring it?" the witch asked, settling into her chair.

"Of course I have it," Elisabet retorted. She put the kettle back on the hook above the flames. "That doesn't mean—"

"Show me."

Elisabet fished the book from her pocket. "See? Still in one piece."

"Give it here."

"We've grown up on stories about how terrifying you are," Elisabet continued, narrowing her eyes at the witch. "My brother has not been here and seen how false those stories are. The next time you have a problem, you leave him out of it." Alexander had been so frightened, so worried for her. It did not matter how many times Elisabet reassured him, he had begged her to give in to Orenda. Begged, so she would not be harmed. "As for the book—"

The witch stuck out a grubby hand, and Elisabet felt the novel being forcibly pried from her fingers. Although Orenda had never strayed from her chair, she now held the book in her own hands.

Stupefied, it took Elisabet a moment to work out what had happened. Irritation flared at the witch's self-satisfied expression as she patted the cover of the book.

"Why didn't you do that as soon as you knew I'd taken it?" Elisabet grumbled.

"And have you break in again trying to kill me?" Orenda said. "No. You had to return willingly. Unlike you lot," she said, waving the book slightly, "I do not steal."

Elisabet did not appreciate the statement. It made her feel something too closely resembling guilt.

"I did not intend to take it," she admitted as the witch shambled over to the shelf bearing her knife and tossed the book up. "I was just so caught up..."

"I know," the witch surprised her by saying. "Had I thought you stole it on purpose, I would not have been this patient." Walking back to her sagging chair, she added, "Sit. Your tea is growing cold."

Hesitating, Elisabet glanced back at the closed door. True to her word, she had sent word to her parents before she'd left this time, but the queen had needed to meet with her. There was so much for them to work out.

"They will wait. Sit."

Elisabet sat.

The witch handed Elisabet a mug and settled back into her chair with her own. "You have questions," she said.

"Not really," Elisabet said, irked by the assumption.

"Very well." The witch fell silent, sipping at her tea peaceably. From the way she watched the fire, settled comfortably in her chair, it seemed she had ceased to care about Elisabet's presence in her home.