that reminded him of honey from the redblossom tree, her eyes were tiny dots a peculiar sort of nowhere color and her mouth much too big, her hooked nose overwhelming every other feature. Her hair stuck out in a stiff mass akin to the straw in the stables, and she limped when she walked, as if one leg was shorter than the other.
Truly, she was not a prepossessing thing at all. And yet he remained curious.
Because she looked him in the eye.
No one had been unafraid enough to do that for … He could not remember the last time.
“So, you survived the night,” he said.
She brushed off a piece of straw from the coarse material of her sacklike brown dress. “The accommodation was lovely, thank you.”
He blinked at the unexpected response, conscious of the servants freezing where they stood. He didn’t know what they expected him to do. Just as he had no awareness of his actions when the curse came upon him. He just knew that after it passed, parts of the castle lay wrecked, and the servants scuttled away from him like so many insects afraid to be crushed. “I shall have to speak to Bard about that,” he murmured.
“Oh, don’t blame him for my comfort,” the odd creature said with an airy wave of a bony hand. “You see, I am quite used to a stone floor, so straw is the height of luxury.”
“Who are you?” Whoever she was, she could not harm him. No one could harm him. No one could even touch him through the black armor that had crept up over his body until it encased him from neck to ankle. He’d felt the tendrils spearing through his hair of late, knew the armor would soon cover his face, too. All for the best. It would make it more difficult for evil to touch him when he went hunting its disciples.
“Liliana,” his prisoner said, those tiny eyes of no particular color meeting his own with bold confidence. “I am Liliana. Who are you?”
He angled his head, wondering if she had all her faculties. For surely she wouldn’t dare to speak to him thus otherwise. “I am the Guardian of the Abyss and the Lord of the Black Castle,” he said because it amused him.
“Do you not have a name?” A quiet whisper.
It made him go still inside. “The lord does not need a name.” But he had had one once, he thought, a long time ago. So long ago that it made waves of darkness roll through his head to even think of it, the monstrous curse within itching to take form.
He snapped a hand at Bard. “Take her back!”
Liliana could have kicked herself as she was dragged away by a massive hand, her heels scraping along the stone floor. She’d attempted too much, too soon, and the twisted evil of her father’s sorcery had struck back like the most vicious of snakes. “Wait!” she cried out to the retreating back coated in unyielding black armor. “Wait!”
When her jailor stopped to open the door, she glanced around wildly, trying to find something with which to save herself. There were no weapons on the wall nearby, but even if there had been, she was no warrior. The servants were too afraid to help. Maybe she could throw the bread, she thought with a dark glance at the hunk that sat on a platter on the huge slab of a dining table to her left—it certainly looked hard enough.
Oh.
“I can cook!” she yelled as Bard started to drag her through the doorway. “I’ll cook you the most delicious meal you’ve ever had in your life if you—”
The door began to close on her words.
“Bard.”
The big ugly lug stopped at his master’s voice.
“Take her to the kitchen,” came the order. “If she lies, throw her in the cauldron.”
Relief had her feeling faint, but she managed to wobble around to walk beside Bard when he released his hold and turned to lead her down a different corridor. “He was jesting about the cauldron, wasn’t he? You cannot have a cauldron big enough for a person?”
Bard halted, sighed, looked at her with those wide, liquid eyes. When he spoke, the sound came from the depths of some deep cave, so heavy and thunderous that her eardrums echoed. “We,” he said, “have knives.”
Liliana couldn’t tell if he, like his master, was making a jest at her expense, so she shut her mouth and said nothing as they wound their way through black hallways free of all ornamentation, down a single wide step and through a heavy wooden door into a warm, sweet-smelling room at one end.
A startled pixielike creature looked up from where she stood by the large freestanding bench in the center. “Bard!” the woman said, her voice as high and sweet as her face was tiny and wrinkled in the most unexpected way—at the corners of her lips and along the bridge of her nose. The rest of her skin, the color of the earth after rain, was taut and smooth, the crinkled tips of her ears poking out through dark hair she’d pulled back into a thick braid.
A brownie, Liliana thought in wonder. She wasn’t a pixie at all, but a brownie, a creature her father had hunted to extinction in Elden, for their blood made his magic so very strong.
Bard pushed Liliana into the room with one big paw. “New cook.” He was gone the next instant.
The brownie’s face fell.
Feeling terrible, Liliana walked over to stand on the other side of the bench. “I’m sorry.” She hadn’t even thought when she’d spoken. “I was trying to save myself from being sent back to the dungeon when I said I’d cook.”
The other woman blinked at her. “Oh, no, oh, no. I’m an awful cook, I am.” Picking up a biscuit from a tray on the bench, she dropped it to the floor. It bounced. “I do not know why the lord has not had me beheaded. Perhaps, oh, yes, perhaps he enjoys that my food matches this place.”
Startled by her friendliness, Liliana said, “But you looked so disappointed just then.”
The woman’s ears turned pink at the tips. “Oh, no, that was nothing. Nothing at all. I’m Jissa.”
“Liliana.”
Reaching out, Jissa pinched Liliana’s wrinkled and blood-encrusted dress. “I am not a good cook, but I keep this place clean. You are not clean.”
“No.” Embarrassed, Liliana scratched at her hair. “A bath would be much appreciated.”
“You’ll have to be quick, quick indeed, if you are to cook a meal,” Jissa warned, shaking a rolling pin at her. “The lord will not wait past the early dinner bell before consigning you to the dungeon again.” The brownie was moving as she spoke, waving at Liliana to follow with quick, birdlike motions. “Noon meal he will not eat today. Not in the castle, he isn’t.”
Running after her, Liliana found herself led to a small bathroom where Jissa was already working the pump to fill the tub. “I’ll do—”
The brownie shook her head. “Take off your clothes and get in, in right now.” Impatient words. “I’m sorry but it must be cold, so cold, for we have no time to heat the water.”
Glad for the chance to be clean after spending days in her father’s dungeon for the infraction of refusing to slit a man’s throat,
