Bitterburn (Gothic Fairytales #1) - Ann Aguirre Page 0,47

the curve of his mouth. “If that’s true, then it’s likely that you hold the secret to unraveling the curse. Perhaps it diverts you when you’re starting to get close?”

“I need to pay attention to when it happens, keep detailed notes. Maybe a pattern will emerge.” Part of me can’t believe I’m this important. I’ve lived my whole life accepting that I’m no one, albeit a bit strange, always asking awkward questions, making people question what they believe to be true, and knowing things without having access to proof.

“Good idea. And tell me when it happens. It might be . . .” He trails off—and now that I’m privy to his expression, I discern that he’s wondering about a secret he keeps, possibly related to the east wing.

Njål has lived alone for so long that he’s forgotten how to hide anything, if he ever knew. I go straight for it because I’m not good at prevarication either. “You’ve thought of something,” I say. “If you know what’s causing this, you should tell me.”

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly.

“But you suspect.”

“I’ll look into it. If anything comes to light, I’ll share it with you.”

Things are different now. We’re lovers. It’s not wrong to call us that, I think, but he still wants to curl up with his secrets as if they can keep him warm. I’ve been trusting him, believing him on all counts, but I only have his word about any of this. It’s possible that he murdered all those people currently lying in the bone room. Maybe he’s played this game with others throughout the ages, and when I lose my willingness to take everything on faith, I’ll join the rest. My heart beats ferociously fast in my chest.

And he hears it, lurching backward like I’ve unexpectedly lodged a blade in his side. “You’re afraid now. Of me.”

“I don’t want to be. But it’s impossible not to wonder what you’re hiding in the east wing,” I say.

Njål goes then. A swirl of his cape and he’s out of the kitchen, away from my pressure and curiosity. I don’t want to doubt him, but I can’t think of any good reason why I’m not allowed to pass. Before, I sort of understood. We were strangers and he had a right to privacy—to space—but now that he’s coming to my bed and has shown me his face, shouldn’t this be the next step? Proving that my trust isn’t misplaced, and that he has faith enough in me to believe that I can handle his secrets.

Provided that they’re not terrifying and dangerous. Perhaps they are.

Or maybe I’ve hurt him for no reason, the first person he’s allowed to see him in who knows how long. I won’t know which until I learn what’s in the east wing.

Sighing, I eat some leftovers from the pantry, fill a watering can, and go inspect my garden. Against all expectations, the charms I cast in the side yard seem to be holding. It’s warm out here compared to the rest of the keep, and the green shoots have grown more than is reasonable in a few days. Though I’m no gardener, I have raised herbs in pots, useful for seasoning what little we had to cook the last few years, and I understand how long it normally takes for them to get this big. At this rate, I might have fresh vegetables in around a month, and there’s no explanation for that apart from magic.

It’s still hard to believe that I’m a witch, but what other explanation is there? I gave you power, the voice whispers. I can give you more. Ask for it. Open to me.

My skin prickles with chills. Before, I wondered if I was going mad; now I’m sure that this comes from an external source, some infernal influence that wants to make a deal. My first instinct is to slam a mental wall between us, but maybe I can learn something.

With my nape covered in gooseflesh and my hair standing on end, I try to follow the energy to the wellspring and when I extend my inner sight, I receive the impression of something desiccated, seething with hatred, and inconceivably ancient. The impact is so strong that for a moment I lose control of my hands and drop the watering can. Instinctively I crouch and wrap my arms around myself to ward off an assault.

Who are you?

There’s no answer and I don’t feel the wickedness anymore. It’s simply gone. Before, I had