The Vampire & Her Witch

”S-sir C-cathal is a g-g-good man,” Eleanor said through chattering teeth. ”H-he c-cared for L-lady Jo-jocelynn and me. He would n-not f-f-f-fall to demons easily,” she said, speaking pure truth. She didn’t have it in her to lie, not now, not after days of cold and hunger. She could hold back her words, but she couldn’t invent new ones, so she supplied him with pieces of truth in the hopes that it would be enough.

”Sir Cathal’s body was found lying in the mud,” Percivus said. ”A claw demon of incredible strength tore through his armor, but he may have been dead already by the time it did. His flesh had been burned by witchcraft unlike any I’ve ever heard of. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Eleanor?”

Percivus couldn’t bring himself to use the words that Sir Gilander had included in his report. That it looked like an Inquisitor had unleashed Holy Flames on Sir Cathal before he died. Perhaps the aging knight had meant it as a simple comparison, but the implication behind his words was plain as day and it had planted a seed of suspicion in Bors’ mind that Percivus had to remove before it could take root.

He’d promised Bors that he would deliver results, but as the days slipped by, Percivus had been thwarted at every turn. Sir Elgon Prowel and Captain Albyn, both close confidants of Lady Jocelynn, had been missing ever since the night the Inquisitor moved against Jocelynn and Eleanor.

Yesterday, he’d finally managed to track down the missing Captain Devlin, in a brothel where he’d evidently been ever since Bors sent Owain to Hurel village. For a man who wanted to become one of Owain’s knights, Delvin was the most useless soldier Percivus had ever seen, falling immediately to indulge in his vices of wine and women as soon as the lord who was supposed to be training him was away on other urgent matters.

The string of failures left Bors doubting whether or not Percivus could root out this conspiracy, and Sir Gilander’s casual comparison had only inflamed matters. Now, if Percivus couldn’t restore a sense of order to his investigation soon, he might find himself in a cell next to Eleanor’s!

”I know n-n-nothing about f-f-flames f-f-for witchcraft,” Eleanor said. She’d learned more about witchcraft during her brief time helping Inquisitor Diarmuid than she’d learned in years as a Confessor, but most of what she’d learned pertained to herbs, plants, witch’s concoctions and their strange rituals in the wilderness.

The question that Diarmuid had asked her to answer was if Lady Ashlynn had ever done anything in her childhood that implied that she was a witch. Over the course of the summer, Eleanor heard several stories from Jocelynn that were enough to raise suspicion. Things like keeping a private garden in Blackwell Manor or sneaking out in the early morning hours to climb a cliff overlooking the vast harbor in Blackwell City were enough to make anyone looking for a witch suspicious.

But Jocelynn made it very clear that the only things her older sister ever grew were fruits and vegetables, with herbs used for cooking. As for sneaking out... It was the simple harmless fun of young women who wanted to watch the sunrise and see the ships setting sail on the morning tide. There was nothing nefarious to suggest that Lady Ashlynn was a witch, despite the mark on her hip that Owain Lothian had murdered her for, and so the Inquisition had concluded that Ashlynn was an innocent woman when she died.

The only thing keeping Owain Lothian from standing trial for Magnicide was his use to the Church as a slayer of demons... but Percivus wasn’t aware of any of that, and Eleanor didn’t dare to tell him because she had no idea what a rabid bloodhound like him would do with such a tangled, bloody mess of lies and schemes to sink his teeth into.

”So you know nothing about the flames that burned Sir Cathal, but you’re more worried about him than your cousin, Lady Ashlynn,” Percivus said with a frown. ”In that case, let’s play a game. After all, I’ve already had a chance to hear Jocelynn’s answers,” he said as he produced two small wooden bowls, setting each one on the table in front of him, along with the pot of remaining stew.

”Since you dislike the bread so much, how about a bit of stew,” he said as he carefully spooned a bit of the thick, hot, creamy broth into one of the bowls, making sure to include a single pea as he did. ”I want to know about this person named ’Samira’ that Lady Jocelynn was so worried about,” Percivus said.

”If your answer matches hers, then I’ll put a bit of stew in each of these bowls. One for you, and one for Jocelynn, since you still seem to care for her. I’ll give you a chance to help her have a nice, hot meal,” he explained as he added another, similar spoonful to the second bowl, this time including a bit of carrot with the creamy broth.

As she watched, Eleanor found herself unconsciously licking her lips as her stomach growled in hunger. The scent of the stew was already an agonizing torture after so many days subsisting on what little edible bread she was given and cups of water that she could only drink a few sips at a time.

Now, he wasn’t just offering her real, hot food... he was offering to give it to Lady Jocelynn as well. For days, Eleanor had been haunted by thoughts of how Percivus had been tormenting her cousin, and now she knew, or at least, knew a little bit. If Percivus held true to his word, and she could help Lady Jocelynn, then maybe they both really could get through this together.

If Percivus was telling the truth. If he would keep his word. Those two ’ifs’ were like a bucket of cold water, dousing her hopes, but part of her refused to give up the hope offered by the contents of those two wooden bowls.

”But if you tell me enough about ’Samira’ to expose one of Jocelynn’s lies,” Percivus added as he dipped his spoon into the pot again, this time spooning a bit of meat into the cup along with the broth. ”Then I might be moved to be more generous to you for being so helpful....”