Two and Twenty Dark Tales by Georgia McBride Page B

smaller than when she had been a mouse. It was as if a vast darkness spread around the Witch, filling the room, squeezing against Amarind’s skin and snaking into her body. That darkness seeped around her heart, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
    The Witch smiled, and Amarind knew that with one twitch of her finger, that darkness would squeeze her heart into a pulp. The Witch wouldn’t change expression, either, while she did it. She wouldn’t even blink as she watched Amarind die.
    “No,” Amarind said. Barely a whisper, but the Witch heard.
    After what seemed like forever, the darkness faded away, and the Witch sat down. She looked at Amarind, a single crease marring her forehead.
    “How did you know?” she said.
    Amarind shook her head, unable to speak.
    The Witch blinked. “You didn’t know that I can’t take the knife?”
    Amarind shook her head again.
    The Witch’s eyes narrowed. “The terms of my confinement are… subtle. I cannot take, and I cannot call. In the hundreds of years I have been in this house, you are the only person who has ever managed to find me. I used to wonder why. I used to think that if you could do it, someone else could, and would. But now I wonder.” The tip of her tongue flicked out, quickly, to lick her lips. “That makes you important, my child, to those who wish to keep me caged.”
    Amarind suspected that wasn’t a good thing.
    “I’ll give you the knife,” she said. “But I have to bring it back to the castle first. I have to use it to find out who betrayed my family. Once I’ve done that, I’ll bring it back to you.”
    The Witch sat perfectly still for a moment. Then she said, “Go, then.”
    Amarind went.
    ***
    Upon her return to the castle, Amarind went straight to the library and stood in front of the clock, her heart pounding.
    How had the Witch known about the knife?
    No, that was the wrong question. She had to ask another question first, a question she should have asked long ago: why did she know about the Witch? What did the Witch have to gain by teaching a princess magic?
    The deathblood of a virgin princess.
    Powerful enough to transform a human being into a mouse. Or to break a powerful enchantment and set a witch free?
    Enchantments cannot be broken from the inside.
    Amarind reached under her skirt and drew the knife. She held it up and looked at it, just as the door slammed open and the king strode in.
    Amarind whirled, but made no effort to hide the knife. Cedric was wearing hunting clothes, brown and green, and a short brown cape. Clearly, her disappearance had worried the staff enough that they had called him in from the hunt.
    Equally clearly, Cedric was not happy about that.
    “Where have you been?” he snarled, after only a quick glance at the blade in her hand.
    Amarind lowered the knife to her side, the way she had seen men do when they were about to fight. Cedric didn’t look the slightest bit wary, which was wise of him. Amarind had no idea how to use a knife in a fight. She suspected she wasn’t even holding it right.
    Cedric scowled at her with a malicious arrogance meant to remind her where the power lay. She should have been frightened, perhaps. But the visit to the Witch had accomplished what those visits always did: to remind her how much greater and vaster the world was, how petty the powers and concerns wrapped around this mundane court.
    Not that disdain would help her if Cedric decided to imprison or execute her. But it would make her feel better while he was yelling at her.
    “I think,” she said, “you know where I’ve been.”
    Cedric was silent for a moment. Then he reached behind him and pulled the library door shut.
    “Now why,” he asked, “would you think that?”
    “Because someone killed my sister and anointed this blade with her blood.” Amarind was gripping the knife hilt so hard her fingers hurt. “What did the Witch offer you, in exchange for her life? The kingship?”
    “Of course,” Cedric said.
    In