The Valley of Lies (Lightkeepers #1)

Chapter EIGHTEEN: Ayer

"Pick up the pace, dragon girl."

Foswida had called Ayer to her chambers the morning after her shocking supper with the witches, forcing her to clean. While Foswida directed Ayer around her bedroom with barked insults and commands, the little witch relaxed atop the tangled mess of linens on her bed, kicking the air with her grime-encrusted feet. Her room was in a constant state of disarray, clothes strewn about the floor where she'd undressed, toys and other random items littering every surface, half of them broken or caked in unidentifiable filth. There were rips and stains on the wallpaper, which at one time must have been lovely- a trellis of blue and green blossoms- but was now nearly imperceptible.

Ayer preferred cleaning the scullery to Foswida's chambers, and the little witch must have known it, as she took great pleasure in watching Ayer attempt to hide her disgust. But today, Ayer was hiding so much more than that. She was worried sick for Zan. She'd never sent him away from Blackwater. But it was for his own good. If he knew the truth–that the triumvirate expected her to willingly kill the captive Lightkeepers–her brother would have improvised a dangerous rescue mission and likely gotten himself killed.

She'd done the right thing. She knew it. Still, his absence left a gaping maw. What would she do now?

Would Zan find the free Darkbane? Would he make it to Loradyn and finally convince their mother the witches needed to be deposed?

Better yet, eradicated...

"Did you think I would be nicer today because Domi said so?"

Ayer didn't answer, but she might have told Foswida that she'd expected nothing. In fact, it was a surprise that she wasn't being treated worse than usual, despite Domira's threat. She would never say it, though. She shivered to think how Foswida would behave if she knew Ayer could imagine worse.

Rough knocks sounded on the antechamber door, and a gaggle of human children arrived, their loud voices almost as garish as their ostentatious wardrobes. These were Foswida's playmates from Nightfair, sons and daughters of the witches-appointed nobility. The triumvirate's favor was fickle and ever-changing, so Foswida's playmates rotated in and out of favor as well. But power did funny things to people. While the children were in Foswida's inner circle, they seemed to forget that they hadn't always been. Or maybe they were too young to understand the fleeting nature of their good fortune. Ayer felt bad for them, but only so much.

"Welcome, friends!"

Foswida hopped off her bed and gave each of the children a hug, ushering them to a row of seats in front of her largest rug. She hadn't told Ayer what the occasion was, but Ayer was all too familiar with the witches' proclivities and knew what the youngest was up to.

The children tittered, regarding each other with wondering, hopeful glances. There were five of them, three girls in silk dresses with frilly petticoats like Foswida usually wore, and two short-haired boys wearing breeches and sleeveless doublets. They could not have been older than ten, but they wore such sophisticated clothing that Ayer felt as if she were glimpsing the callous, snobbish adults they might one day become if they held onto the triumvirate's favor.

After the children sat down, one empty chair remained.

"Ayer'lora, the last seat is for you. Please take it."

Foswida was never formal, and Ayer was under no illusion that the little witch had any intention except to humiliate her. But after last night, she wasn't in the mood to suffer Foswida's juvenile wrath more than necessary.

She unbent from the ground, smoothed the wrinkles from the front of her apron, and took a seat with all the dignity she could muster. The human boy beside her stared. Until now, Foswida had been the only blue-eyed human Ayer had seen up close. The Yansu had brown or golden eyes, and blue eyes were rare even among humans, but Foswida's eyes were a dull gray compared to the boy's. His were blue like the sky, like the tiny flowers that had recently sprung up in the overgrown garden Ayer sometimes caught glimpses of on her way to the kitchens in the morning. Objectively, they were beautiful. But there was something disconcerting about them. The boy's eyes were too vivid and light. They were like gemstones, as captivating as they were hard and cold.