The Witch’s Kiss Trilogy. Katharine Corr

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Gwydion reached the house just before dusk. It was a long, low building, built on stilts hammered into the boggy ground; Ranulf had placed a charm upon the wood to stop it rotting. Gwydion hesitated as he approached the door, but not for long; he had not eaten or drunk for nearly two days, and thirst drove him forwards. The door opened at his touch. He fell upon his knees.

      ‘Well, boy?’ Ranulf was standing in front of him, wheezing, even wider and more misshapen than Gwydion remembered. ‘So you have returned to me, like the filthy dog you are?’

      Gwydion risked looking up; if Ranulf had decided to kill him, he would not be bothering with questions. But there might be punishment. And that Gwydion would have to endure, if he wanted to learn the darkest of Ranulf’s arts. He braced himself, expecting pain.

      But to his surprise, Ranulf laughed.

      ‘That princess of yours did indeed treat you like a dog, did she not? A fitting punishment for a disobedient apprentice. You look like you have suffered enough; for now, at least. Come.’

      Ranulf led Gwydion into the house, set some wine and bread on the table and waved him to a chair.

      ‘So, boy, it is eight months since you left me, so full of your own plans and abilities. What do you have to say for yourself?’

      Gwydion looked down at his hands. ‘You were right, Master. You were right about everything.’

      ‘Tell us then. Tell us what happened.’

      Gwydion cleared his throat, and began describing the weeks he had spent searching for the Sorceress in the great northern forest. Eventually he had found her, living in an ancient stone tower surrounded by a huge hedge of black holly trees: black bark, black berries, dark green leaves with thick, sharp, spines. He’d also found the bodies of some of the men who had already tried to break through the hedge. The branches had blunted their swords, and the spines scratched them and plunged them into a poisoned sleep, a perpetual night from which they never awoke. Inside the hedge, the tower was guarded by three enormous ravens, with beaks sharp enough to pierce chainmail and rend flesh. Gwydion had spent another two months practising the runes that would allow him to bend the holly trees and the ravens to his will, before he attempted the tower.

      ‘I caused the hedge to open before me, and the ravens to become docile. After that, the Sorceress presented no difficulty: she was old and weak and had no other defence in place. Her magic was mostly that of potions and curses. She was attempting to work blood magic, to link the power of the shadow realm to a human body and thus create a dark servant, but she had not the skill.’

      Ranulf grunted. ‘The magic and entities of that realm are evil and full of cunning. To summon such a one, and keep it housed within another’s form, that requires more than blood magic. Great mastery and great sacrifice are needed. How did you kill her?’

      ‘I cut out her heart, since I needed evidence of my deed. Then I searched for the princess. Edith was very…’ Gwydion faltered for a moment. ‘Very ill. We had to journey slowly on our return to Helmswick.’

      ‘Hmm. Go on.’

      ‘I don’t wish to—’

      ‘I told you to continue.’ Ranulf lifted a hand, threatening.

      ‘The king promised Edith’s hand in marriage to whomever rescued her. But he is a cheat and a liar. And so is she. During our childhood, before I left to come here – she made me think she loved me. But it was all mockery. She is to marry another.’

      Ranulf laughed, the same unpleasant cackle Gwydion remembered.

      ‘What did I tell you, boy? Women are all the same: false and cunning. Their—’ a fit of coughing shook him, forcing him to break off. Gwydion refilled Ranulf’s ale mug and pushed it towards him. ‘Their love is like a shallow pond, liable to dry up if they are not constantly showered with compliments and gifts.’ He spat a gobbet of blood on to the floor. ‘All love is but love of self, a woman’s love doubly so. You should be thankful this Edith has found another fool to make miserable.’

      Gwydion sat in silence. He didn’t feel thankful.

      Ranulf watched him for a while.

      ‘And what would you now, boy?’

      ‘I wish to complete my training. If you are willing, Master.’

      ‘For what purpose? And do not tell me it is for love of me, or for the love of learning.’ He sat back in his chair, waiting.

      Gwydion thought a long time before he answered.

      ‘I wish to complete my training not for love, but for hatred. I want to become powerful enough to take revenge upon the woman who spurned me. A revenge so complete that she will curse the day she was born. I want to make her suffer.’

      ‘Very well.’ Ranulf held out his hand, waiting for Gwydion to kiss the ornate gold and sapphire ring he wore on his middle finger. ‘I will continue your training, boy. I will teach you the only true way to take and keep a woman’s heart, or a man’s: through blood and fire and dark magic. But there will be a price to pay.’

      ‘Of course, Master.’

      ‘Another six years, maybe five if you pay attention and work hard, and then, when the opportunity arises, you will be ready.’

      ‘Ready for what?’

      ‘Ready to create a monster that will serve your purpose. Ready to create a King of Hearts …’

       For five years Gwydion studied with Ranulf. Every day he gained in knowledge; every day, lost something of that which had made him human.

       King Wulfric, sick and frail as he was, did not long survive Edith’s return, and she became queen.

       Edith grieved for her father, and wondered often what had become of Gwydion. And yet, Aidan filled her heart with joy, and the kingdom prospered, and in the fullness of time the young king and queen were blessed with a child. A baby prince, who might one day become a king …

      

      Edith slid away from the warmth of her still-sleeping husband, threw a fur-lined mantle around her shoulders and crept into the room next door. It was not yet dawn; the sky outside was black. But by the firelight she could see the nurse, rocking the baby’s cradle and singing softly. The woman jumped up as Edith entered.

      ‘Your Highness. Did I wake you?’

      ‘No. Is he asleep?’

      ‘Just settled again, my lady.’

      Edith leant over the cradle and gazed down at her son. Jack already seemed to have changed so much from the tiny baby she had held in her arms only six weeks ago. Edith loved to watch him while he slept, his mouth open in a tiny ‘o’, as if he were surprised, his little fingers clenching and unclenching as he dreamt. She had been so afraid throughout her pregnancy, so terrified that Gwydion СКАЧАТЬ