The dark red wine waved in the glasses as I strode through the small, seaside castle. It was nothing but a low tower, sitting on the edge of the sturdy cliff with a small courtyard on the other side. The seagulls cried faintly, in the distance, where a small fishing town made its livelihood. From the land, it seemed very square, but I had made something unusual in my tower.

  Towards the sea, I had opened a whole wall of the first floor, leaving only solid, rocky pillars and thick timber beams for support. It was for the view. The sun had just set in the west, but the sky remained blue and dark only in the east.

  The sea stretched to the horizon, rolling with the wind, clashing against our cliff with boundless patience. Carmele stood at the balustrade, leaning, she had watched the sunset and had waited for me. She wore a dark green robe of simple but fine wool, it framed her delicate shoulders warmly, and her thick pale hair fell stiffly down her back.

  My steps were heavy, mortal, and she had definitely heard me but made no sign of it. I carefully placed the glasses on the solid, massive oak table set with beeswax candles and embraced her back, kissed her cheek. She turned and smiled to me with grey eyes full of life, and at her lips. “You spared Aventin, today,” she remarked approvingly.

  “He’s getting no younger,” I jested. Aventin was Night-Born for a year.

  “Unlike me,” she says, eyeing the wine, and then my finger, which was slowly healing from a puncture. “Again, today?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I tried to gather her in my arms but she slithered out of it. “Everyday, if I can help it,” I remind her as she tries her wine, and frowns.

  “I can taste it,” she says, spinning the liquid, “I really can.”

  “It’s the wrong glass.”

  “Really?”

  I laugh quietly and she wrinkles her nose. “It is a small price for youth, isn’t it? My dear, lovely witch.”

  She tugs on her shoulder. “I don’t think I look very old yet,” she says slyly.

  But very quickly, she would look older than me. We had been over this many, many times. “You met your sister, today?”

  “I did,” she admits, and smiles, “she’s well. She regrets not seeing you.”

  “Perhaps next time.”

  “Perhaps. She’s treated well, and has her eyes on a young artisan, actually, a baker,” she laughed upon noticing my look, “no, not a Pierre. By her word, he’s a quiet, romantic one. He’s named Conrad.”

  “I should visit him?”

  “By no means you should,” she said patiently, “no, let nature run its course, let her have her own life. When she needs us, we shall step in. Not before. And in fact, Rachelle is still courting her.”

  “She’s tired of me, I think” I said, shrugging.

  “You missed the sunset, again,” she said, her eyes drifting to the horizon. “Have you found a way?”

  “No,” I admitted, but without regret. There was only peace here, the wind, and her warmth was enough for the both of us. “Do you wish to travel again? I’d like to see Constantinople.”

  “Not Jerusalem?” Her smile was knowing.

  “Also, Jerusalem, but mostly, Constantinople. How do you feel?”

  She thoughtfully raised her eyes to the ceiling, before she circled the table and walked into my arms. “I’d like to see Novgorod, actually.”

  “Really?” My surprise was genuine and delighted.

  “I have warmed up to the idea,” she admitted, brushing my back, “I think it would be interesting. I’d like to meet their forests and see their people.”

  “Novgorod it is,” I murmured, closing my eyes. I felt light yet full.