Witch of Iria

The bedroom

(Picture from https://art.alphacoders.com/arts/view/27414 and is what the painting in the room looks like)

He stares at me, his black eyes reflecting the afternoon light. Dorcha's stomach is even more bloated, stuffed full of food he slowly eats. He pushes his head into me, an antler catching on my hair.

"Ow," I mutter. "Are you trying to scalp me, Dorcha?"

I try to smile at him, but I can only manage a grimace. He pushes his head into me again and blows into my eyes. But even the movement is slow as if he's lost his motivation for moving at all. Rage flows through me, red hot like the burning dawn, and I can sense the beginnings of a headache.

"I'll free you," I whisper. "I promise."

Dorcha doesn't react and continues to snuggle into me. The sound of a male voice outside the stable startles me, and I pull away from Dorcha and press myself against the wall. I snuck down here this morning, evading Owen and the sleeping guards. Finn is still gone for a few more days.

For a moment, the rhyming of a little curse slithers through my mind. May you sleep in spiders, dreaming nightmares of Deanna's riders. May your days be forever darker than the shadow of the moon.

It isn't enough for me. Deanna's cursed riders chasing Finn aren't enough at this moment, their skeletal horses pawing at storm-tossed clouds. Neither are spiders or darkness. For a moment, my anger twists itself into something colder. It tastes like metal, and my magic shudders underneath my skin, making my body tingle. I feel like her. Like my mother, when she went into an icy rage.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The voice outside the stables becomes clearer.

"He's still not back? Stupid boy." An impatient sigh. "If Finn doesn't deliver what he promised..."

I freeze, my magic going still. Cailaen. Or Lord Nivin, his glamoured persona.

I slowly edge my way to the door of the stable, peering out through the crack. Dorcha snorts softly behind me.

I can see the side of Owen's head as he grovels to the older man. Cailaen's eyes are bright with hidden energy, a fleck of silver buried in their depths. If he only looked sideways...he would see me. But I can't seem to look away. I want to know. I push my magic down into myself, afraid he'll sense it.

"You will give him full access to the city?" Cailaen asks, and I frown. Who are they talking about? And this city keeps out beings with magic. Is this another fae?

"Of course, as per our agreement." Owen barely meets Cailaen's eyes. He stares studiously at the ground.

"We will not wait forever," Cailaen says, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he stalks away, with far more agility than an old man should have. Owen is left staring at the ground, his face very pale.

"I'll be back," I say to Dorcha, pressing my face into his soft fur. I receive a puff of air in response as he goes back to slowly eating a half-rotten apple.

I watch Owen as he enters the castle again, and I sneak back through the kitchens, hoping to mirror Owen's movements. Where is he going now? Hopefully not to check on me. I walk quickly through corridors, ducking into empty rooms when servants come rushing down them.

I glance around a corner, expecting to see dark hair and Owen's pale face. He must be coming this way. This hallway leads to different parts of the castle. But the only thing living is the burning flames of candles, loosing heat into the cool space. I keep walking, becoming lost as corridors seem to turn into one another. It's like I'm in another forest, that shifts and changes shape.