The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 2068: Not So Bad

"I didn’t let him touch me," Adala said, staring directly into Ashlynn’s seafoam eyes with the only eye that wasn’t swollen shut to make sure her lady understood.

Jocelynn held her tighter. She didn’t know what else to do.

When Adala could stand, Jocelynn took the shawl from her own shoulders and wrapped it around her as gently as she could. The wool caught on the open welts, and Adala hissed through her teeth, but she didn’t cry out. She pulled it closed at her throat with one trembling hand and nodded.

"I can walk," she said.

She couldn’t. Not really. Jocelynn took her weight against her side, and together they stumbled back down the gallery, past the reeking cells and through the guard room. Sir Rain was sitting on his bench again. He watched them go by with a lazy, satisfied look on his face, and didn’t lift a finger to help.

"Mind the stairs, my lady," he called after them. "Wouldn’t want either of you to fall," he said, placing extra emphasis on the last word.

The stairs were the worst.

Adala climbed them one at a time, gasping at every step, her hand white-knuckled against the rough stone wall. Halfway up, she had to stop. She leaned against Jocelynn with her eyes closed, and her breath came shallow and fast. When she finally spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper.

"He said he would stop," Adala said. "If I would take Samira’s place."

Jocelynn’s blood turned to ice.

"In his bed," Adala went on, in the same flat, precise voice she used for counting the household linens. "He said it so pleasantly. Like I should be honored by his offer. He said a sensible girl would see the advantage in it."

"Adala..." Jocelynn said. "Hush, let’s get you back to your chambers," she said as she tried to gently pull Adala forward.

"I spat in his face," Adala said as something that was almost a smile tugged at her split lip. "So he went back to the whip."

Jocelynn didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She only tightened her arm around Adala’s waist and helped her up the next step, and the next, and the next.

By the time they reached Adala’s chambers, they were both trembling. Jocelynn eased her down onto the edge of the bed. Adala couldn’t lean back. She sat hunched forward with her elbows on her knees and the shawl hanging from her shoulders, the blood from her back already seeping through the wool.

Jocelynn poured water from the pitcher into the basin, wet a cloth, and dabbed at the blood on Adala’s split lip. Adala flinched, then held still and let her help with the other wounds on her body. The water in the basin turned pink, and then red.

"I’ll fetch a priest," Jocelynn said when it became unbearably obvious how extensive the wounds on her back were. "Someone from the chapel, someone who knows healing. I’ll wake the whole manor if I have to..."

"No." Adala caught her wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "It can wait until morning."

"Adala, your back..." Jocelynn said.

"Will still be my back in the morning, my lady," Adala said as she looked up at Jocelynn with her one good eye. "Go to your son, Jocelynn. Go to your husband. We both know what he’ll do if he finds out that you kept him waiting for my sake."

Jocelynn opened her mouth, and closed it again.

"It’s not so bad," Adala said. "I’ve seen worse in the Iron Kingdom. I’ve suffered worse," she said as her mouth twisted. "Do you know what they teach us there? Crawl if you must, but save yourself. I can endure until morning."

She glanced toward the little desk beneath the window. "Would you light the candle on my desk before you go? And set out my pen and paper. I promised Charlotte a letter this week, and I don’t like to break my promises."

Jocelynn wanted to protest. If she wouldn’t accept a priest, the least Adala could do would be to lie down and rest, even if she had to lie on her stomach all night. But Jocelynn knew the stubborn look in Adala’s eye, so she lit the candle for her. She set out the paper, and the pen, and the little pot of ink, and a stick of plain wax beside them.

"You should rest," Jocelynn said.

"I will," Adala promised. "Just as soon as I finish my letter."

Jocelynn didn’t believe her. Not for a moment.

But she went anyway.

Owain was already in bed when she slipped into their chambers.

"You took your time, my pearl," he murmured, without opening his eyes, and his hand settled on her hip and stayed there. For a moment, she was afraid that he’d pull her closer to make his own demands of her body. Mercifully, he didn’t. It seemed like he was completely satiated and he fell into a deep sleep as soon as he ensured that his prized possession had returned to him.

In the crib beside the bed, Ashton slept soundly, the corner of his white blanket stiff and dark where his father’s hand had held it.

Jocelynn lay in the dark beside her husband and stared up at the canopy while his breathing slowed and deepened into sleep. He’d washed his hands before he came to bed. She’d heard the splash of water in the basin and seen the water cloud red in the candlelight, and when he’d reached for her afterward, his fingers had smelled of soap.

She thought of Adala’s face. Of the welts. Of the silver threads tangled in her hair. Of her voice, flat and precise in the dark of the stairwell.

’I didn’t let him touch me.’

’I spat in his face.’

’Crawl if you must, but save yourself.’

Get up, Jocelynn told herself. Get up and go to her. Or go fetch a priest for her. Do something. Do it now.

But she couldn’t move. Not for hours. Every time she thought of slipping out from beneath the covers, she imagined Owain’s hand closing around her wrist in the dark. She could hear his voice, soft and reasonable. ’Where are you going, my pearl?’ ’You’re not leaving me alone with Ashton, are you? Your son needs you close...’

He had more innocuous phrases than an archer had arrows in his quiver, and he always seemed to find the right one to pin her in place.

The bells were ringing midnight by the time she finally found the courage to leave their chambers.

She crept through the dark corridors to Adala’s chamber, barefoot, with her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would climb out of her chest.

She knocked softly at Adala’s door, but there was no answer.

"Adala?" she called. "It’s me. It’s Jocelynn."

Nothing.

The door wasn’t barred. It should have been. Adala wasn’t careless about these things. She was always very proper. But when Jocelynn pushed on the door, it swung inward at her touch, and the dim light from the corridor fell across the room.

The smell reached her first. Sharp and sour, wrong in a way she couldn’t name, thick enough that she tasted it at the back of her throat. Beneath it lingered the cold, greasy smoke of a snuffed candle.

Somewhere above her, in the dark, something creaked. The slow, patient groan of old timber bearing a weight it had never been meant to carry.

A stool lay on its side in the middle of the floor.

Jocelynn looked up and instantly wished she hadn’t...