The Wicked Born

Chapter 3

A week passed and not more than four words were exchanged between the captor and captive. Dacre was beginning to think that she had gone completely mute before she finally opened her mouth one night. They were still riding on their horses through the shadows of the night when she spoke.

"We leave the horses then we go into town. There is a tavern not too far from where I plan to set up camp for the night."

Dacre's mouth immediately watered at the sound of eating anything that the witch didn't prepare herself. He's learned from his time with her that they apparently don't have a cooking class in the pits of Hell. But he still couldn't help the curiosity that got the best of him. "Why risk us going into town? You know that the one person my father wants dead more than me is you, right?"

She let out a low laugh. He braved a glance over and saw her smiling to herself in the silence. It made him uncomfortable how normal she looked sometimes.

"I know that, trust me." She laughed again. He was starting to suspect that she was laughing at a joke he wasn't in on. He didn't like it. "It doesn't matter. Soon enough, we will be arriving at the castle and I'll hand you over, get what was taken from me, then be on my way."

He rolled his eyes at her surety of it all. There was no way the King was going to let her just stroll out of the castle gates once he finally had her within his grasp. Did she not understand that? If they made it to the castle and she handed him over to the mercy of his father, she'd be putting herself right into his clutches, too. He didn't bother explaining that, though. He had a feeling that she already knew.

"Your nose is starting to look much more princely than it was." She laughed even harder at the low snarl he sent her way. It was meant to intimidate, but it seemed to put the witch into stitches as she bent over in a fit of giggles. She was right, though. The swelling had gone down completely and, although he didn't trust the back of the spoon he used as a mirror to be quite the best judge, it looked as if the bruising was gone as well.

"Yeah, thanks for that," he responded dryly. "Is that how you treat every person who happens to disagree with you?"

"Disagree with me?" She barked out a loud and genuine laugh at this one before continuing, "I'll have you remember that you tried to strangle me to death with chains. It was a bold move, charmer, but it still warranted a punch or two nonetheless."

Despite his best efforts, he let a small smile fall on his lips, too. Nothing about this situation was amusing. None of it. He was basically marching closer to his death with each passing step the mare under him took. Yet somehow, for some unknown reason, even he felt himself laughing quietly along with the witch in the moonlight.

They soon dismounted their horses and tied them to a nearby tree so they wouldn't be able to wander off while the two were gone. They started their trek into the town. Dacre noticed that the witch kept her hood up no matter what time of day or night it was.

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After walking with Dacre for a short amount of time, they arrived at the tavern that Tabitha had seen once before when passing through this town years ago. Outside of the small building, there was a large and burly man propped up on the walls of the place with bile wettening the front of his shirt and pants. Tabitha's strong senses aren't always a good thing.

She could feel Dacre following closely behind her steps when she walked through the front door of the place. A wave of smoke wafted out the second the door opened and it wrapped around the two new patrons like tendrils of fire around a piece of paper. She inhaled deeply under her breath and crossed the threshold. She felt a few of those already well on their way to getting drunk turn to look at the newcomers but she also felt them turn away just as fast, meaning they didn't recognize the company she had in tow.