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Over the next few days, Azazel keeps a careful distance. I only see him for meals, and even then, he’s distantly polite. Likely, he’s feeling guilty all over again, and while I should find that satisfying, the truth is that I’m damned tired of this one-sided fighting.
I still can’t bring myself to forgive him for trapping me here, though.
Despite my determination to do . . . something . . . I find myself returning to the garden the castle showed me, again and again. The castle provides any number of things in an attempt to keep me occupied. Books written in a language I don’t understand, because apparently the spell Azazel placed on me without my permission doesn’t extend to reading. A sketchbook and watercolors that I toy with, more out of boredom than any true artistic desire or ability. And, finally, a basket filled with skeined yarn in a variety of colors and weights, along with needles in a range of sizes.
And so I pick up knitting again. Pope bullied me into learning the skill few years back; he claimed it would be good for my mental health to keep my hands busy. They were right—they usually are—and it became an activity I gravitated toward again and again over the years. I don’t exactly set out to knit a sweater, but I start a pattern I’ve knit enough times that I mostly have it memorized. I’ve never had use for so many knitted garments, so I always donated the final pieces to a nearby women’s shelter. I don’t know what I’ll do with this sweater, but the familiarity of knitting it is comforting, especially when the castle somehow pipes through soft music to keep me company.
When I’m here, I can almost pretend that I’m free. It’s a bandage, and not even a good one at that, but it’s something. It soothes my anger.
At least until I look up one morning to realize I’m not alone. Azazel stands a respectful distance away, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s wearing his “work” clothing—a long tunic that’s split up the sides nearly to his hips, paired with pants and boots.
I freeze, suddenly feeling vulnerable and defensive. “What are you doing here?”
“I came looking for you.” He glances around as if he’s never seen this place before. “I haven’t been in this garden in years. I forgot it existed.”
“Or maybe the castle didn’t want to remind you.”
He smiles briefly. “There’s that as well.” Azazel clears his throat. “If you’re up for it, I thought we could get out of the castle for a little while?”
“The prisoner gets a furlough. How lovely.”
He opens his mouth, no doubt to tell me that I’m not a prisoner, before seeming to change his mind. “If you don’t want to leave, you’re more than welcome to say no.”
I glare, because he’s got me over a barrel and he knows it. No matter how lovely the garden, how eager the castle is to entertain me, it’s all still a cage. Getting a chance to leave it, even temporarily, isn’t something I’m going to pass on. I set my knitting aside, tucking it carefully back into the basket, and rise. “Where are we going?”
He’s cautious—I’ll give him that. He doesn’t smile or react at all, other than to motion for me to walk next to him. “Ramanu is gone for a time. Some of their responsibilities have been handed off to others, but I need to make an appearance at one of the local villages just outside the city.”
I fall into step next to Azazel, trying not to notice how he shortens his stride to match mine instead of making me chase him. “Where is Ramanu?” I haven’t seen them in a couple of days, but I just assumed they were making the rounds, checking on the humans with the other territory leaders.
“There’s a witch they’ve had their eye on—so to speak—for some time. She’s finally gotten around to summoning them, so they’ve gone to offer her a bargain.”
I swallow down an acid comment about the phrasing of them making a bargain instead of kidnapping their mark. If we start fighting, it will end in me storming off, and I’ll miss my chance to get out of the castle for a bit.
Azazel, of course, divines the direction of my thoughts. “I’m not proud of the way I lied to you, but don’t take that as a sign of how bargains are typically struck. If Ramanu’s witch agrees, it will be on her own terms and because she wants to.”
For the first time since coming here, I’m forced to wonder what I would have done if Azazel had come to me with honesty instead of lies. Would I have shut him down? Or would I have seriously considered his offer?
It bothers me that I don’t know the answer to that question.