The Vampire & Her Witch

Jamys could barely feel his fingers by the time he pushed open the door to the small room he shared with his wife in the servants’ wing of Lothian Manor. The hinges protested with a familiar squeal that he’d been meaning to oil for the better part of a year, and the sound drew a soft murmur from the bed where Lilee had been dozing beneath a threadbare quilt.

The quilt had been plush and luxurious when they bought it to celebrate Jamys’ promotion from the carriage yard to stables used by visiting knights and noblemen for their mounts, but like many things they owned, it had long passed the age when it should have been replaced if either of them could have managed the coin to do so.

”There you are,” Lilee said, blinking at him in the light of the single, stubby tallow candle she’d left burning on the trunk beside the bed. Her auburn hair hung loose over one shoulder, still slightly damp from the washhouse, and her hands, red and rough from years of lye soap and scalding water, reached out to help him with the clasp of his heavy wool cloak. ”I was starting to worry.”

”Lord Dunn’s party arrived an hour before sunset,” Jamys said as he sank onto the edge of their bed, his joints protesting after a day spent hauling feed, brushing down horses, and making room for twice as many mounts as the stable was built to hold. ”More than twenty horses, and every one of them was in a foul mood after spending the day on a tossing ship on the river. One of them nearly took my hand off when I tried to check her hooves,” he said, holding up a weathered hand that bore a crescent-shaped bruise that was already turning a brilliant shade of purplish red.

”Oh, honey,” Lilee said, clicking her tongue sympathetically as she pulled his fingers toward her lips so she could kiss his hand without touching the bruise. ”Did they at least let you rest to eat? If you haven’t...” she started to say, only for Jamys to gently shush her with a finger pressed to her lips.

”Nayl brought me a cup of onion broth from the kitchens to keep warm, and one of yesterday’s rolls,” he said, though when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember how long ago it had been. ”I’ll be fine, love,” he added, stroking her face gently when he saw her preparing to get out of bed. ”The feast hasn’t ended yet; you shouldn’t brave the kitchens right now anyway.”

”Hmpf, what do you know?” Lilee said as she worked her way around to Jamys’ back, shifting on the bed so he could lean against her thighs while she worked at the knots in his shoulders with the ease of someone who had been doing it for twenty years. ”Master Jean runs the kitchens now, and he’s not as harsh as Master Baden was. If I pout a little and tell him you were hurt by one of the Dunn’s horses, he might even send me back with a treat meant for their table.”

”Don’t,” Jamys said, straightening slightly and turning so he could look at her over his shoulder. ”We’ve little enough as it is, and Master Jean is going back to the Gilded Horn after tomorrow’s feast. If someone has a grudge and claims we were filching from the kitchens, he won’t be here to say we weren’t,” he warned her.

”We can’t afford to pay it back if the Steward or his men hold it against us,” he said, glancing around the room. ”So don’t risk doing something silly for me.”

”Hey,” she said, pausing her massage to wrap her hands around her husband’s strong and sturdy waist as she pressed herself up against his broad, muscular back. ”We’ll make it through,” she whispered.

”We’re still hanging on, aren’t we? So take care of yourself. I can’t have you wasting away on me,” she said softly as she leaned her head against his back.

The room wasn’t large enough for much besides their bed, a pair of battered trunks that held nearly everything they owned, and a small table with a chipped washbasin and a candle. A few mementos crowded the narrow shelf above the bed; the colorful ribbons they’d bound their hands together with during their wedding, even though the once vibrant colors had long since faded to more muted shades, a horseshoe that Jamys swore was lucky, and a thimble that had once belonged to Lilee’s mother.

Most important of all, however, was the crude charcoal sketch of the three of them that one of the other servants had drawn as a gift when their son was born.

In the far corner, leaning against the wall where it had been left the day they retrieved it from their son’s cot in the common hall, a wooden sword gathered dust. Jamys had carved it years ago from a bit of ash that had split from a fencepost, smoothing it down with a farrier’s rasp until it wouldn’t leave splinters in the boy’s hands.

As a child, their son had treasured it, swinging it at fence posts and hay bales in the yard behind the kitchens, dreaming aloud about the day he’d become a knight. Even once he’d outgrown the simple toy, he’d kept it with him anyway, even though he had precious little space to keep things he didn’t need.

On the trunk beside the bed, half-hidden beneath the candle, sat a linen tunic that Lilee had been mending for him when word came from the Summer Villa that their son had gone missing along with a witch who had slain two of Owian’s knights.

Neither of them touched it anymore, but they couldn’t bring themselves to put it away either, so the tunic sat there, reminding them of the emptiness that had settled into their quiet home and echoing the emptiness in both their hearts.

”Just a few more days,” Lilee said gently, forcing herself to keep moving again and letting her fingers still work at the hard knots beneath her husband’s shoulder blades. ”Once the ceremony is over and the lords have gone home, things will settle.” She hesitated, and her hands went still again.

”I heard a rumor in the washhouse today,” Lilee added quietly. ”One of the cook’s girls says Lord Owain means to call the barons to war against the demons. This winter, if you can believe it, he’s not even waiting for the thaw.”

Her voice caught on the word ’demons’, and Jamys didn’t need to look at her to know where her gaze had drifted. He could hear it in the way her breath shortened and the way her fingers curled against his back as though she needed something to hold on to.

”They’re saying the demons attacked the Summer Villa,” Lilee continued in a voice that had gone thin and careful. ”That’s why Lord Owain wants to ride west. To put an end to the raids before they spread.” She was quiet for several moments before she drew a ragged breath to speak again. ”Jamys, do you think... is there still any hope that he’s...”

A knock at the door cut through her words, sharp and firm enough to rattle the hinges.

Jamys was on his feet before the second knock came, and his hand was already reaching for his cloak, ready to rush back out to the stables if something had happened, even as he hoped it was nothing serious. The only thing that was worse than an animal in pain was delivering the bad news to the knight who rode it, and tonight had already been hard enough.

When he pulled the door open, his heart sank at the sight of a tall, lean man standing in the corridor, dressed in an indigo tunic of such fine quality that it could only belong to a nobleman. The man’s light brown hair fell neatly past his ears, and his handsome features were unmistakable even in the dim, flickering light of the servants’ quarters.

”Are you Jamys and Lilee?” the man asked in a quiet, measured tone. ”From the stables and the laundry?”

”We are, your lordship,” Jamys said, straightening instinctively even as he glanced back over his shoulder, wondering why a knight would be asking after Lilee at this hour. He understood if a knight came to fetch him about a horse... Well, no, even that seemed odd. A knight should send his squire to fetch a hand if he needed one; he’d never come himself... So what was happening here?

”Good, I’m glad I found the right room,” the man said with a sigh of relief as a faint smile formed on his lips. ”My name is Cynwrig Stormbrook,” the knight said. ”And I need you to come with me.”