ARWIN

  They strode into a rge, formal dining room, the kind of thing that could host parties for more than a dozen guests. With a stylish wave of the Enchantress’s hand, hundreds of candles fred to life. Fat and short, thin and tall, they were of every size but always white. They sat in nooks and sconces in the walls and even floated over their heads all about the room. A snap of her fingers, and a fire roared to life in the hearth on one side of the room.

  Arwin sniffed. Was that a hint of citron and vanil in the air? It seemed that either the firepce or the candles were scented. Interestingly touch. Not super vilin-like, though, was it? Unless this particur vilin had a lot of css?

  Like much of the rest of the castle, the dining hall was done in a gothic romance style. It was heavily accented with stone roses and thorny stone vines climbing the walls and outlining doors and windows. The two-story windows were shaped like roses just beginning to open, and through them, one could see that night had almost fallen now. Beyond a line of gss doors on one side of the room was a rge terrace that extended outwards into the air, high above the swamp below, with a terrific view of the moon and stars.

  Arwin marvelled at it all. The grandeur, the artistry, the beauty. Except for the spiders, Kelli would have loved this pce, loved living in her very own castle. He cursed himself. Why was he thinking of her at a time like this? Why was he thinking of her at all? He banished her from his thoughts.

  “Please, sit.” The Enchantress directed him to a chair at one end of a long, rectangur, bck wooden table riddled with white veins of sparkling quartz. Little red gss balls filled with flickering candles dotted the sparse table, and a royal purple runner sliced lengthwise through the middle. Instead of chairs down the sides of the table, there were cushioned medieval benches with space to seat at least five or more on each side. The two ends of the table did, however, feature rge, ornate chairs akin to thrones, the kind one might find in a royal pace. They were extensively carved of some very dark gray, almost bck, wood, with thin red pillows to sit on and red padding on the backrest.

  She vanished through a hidden door disguised by the carvings on the wall, going into a side room and leaving Arwin time to seat himself and think.

  So far, the Dark Enchantress, apparently a local super vilin, had kidnapped him and Yaz, thrown them in her dungeon, threatened to kill him multiple times, then shown him her art collection and invited him to dinner. She’d ughed and toyed with him, teased and performed medical procedures on him, and gone from witty to calm to angry and back in blinks of an eye. Such sharp emotional changes indicated that this could be a very complicated woman. Or she might be a sociopath or insane. It was a matter of degrees.

  The Dark Enchantress, despite her vile reputation, was gorgeous and apparently brilliant, making her one of the most attractive people that Arwin had ever met. One might think this a good thing. But, in reality, it made her yet more difficult. It was very, very hard not to let her positive aspects overshadow everything else. Like the fact that she was allegedly a murderess and eater of unsuspecting babies (although, to be fair, those could be purely nasty rumours). Like the fact that Yaz was chained up in her dungeon. Like the fact that she even had a dungeon.

  He was definitely attracted to her. Despite his recent retionship heartache, he still very much wanted someone to love and wished he had a loving, loyal partner in his life. Life was much, much better when you had someone else to share it with, and the two of you loved each other. But Arwin would be a fool to allow his lust or romantic desperation to take hold of his feelings in this case. She might be beautiful and cssy and smart and…what was the point he was trying to make? He’d been so caught up in her good points that he’d lost the thread of his thoughts.

  Orchid reappeared with two gsses of wine. She pced one in front of Arwin, then sat down at the opposite end of the table with her own.

  He had to raise his voice a bit as the other end of the table was a bit far away for only the two of them. “Thank you.” He raised the gss to sip from it and caught a whiff of the contents. He jerked in surprise, then took a curious sip. The liquid sparkled on his tongue. The wine was full-bodied and quite good. “Is this…blueberry wine?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…this might sound strange. I ran across some blueberries earlier in a blue region. Aren’t these supposed to make you depressed? Kind of an odd thing to make wine from.”

  “When making the wine, I use the distilled essence of sweetness from little girls as well as water from an eternal hope spring. It counters the negative effects of the blueberries. And the process of counteraction produces mild carbonation, which I enjoy.”

  He paused sipping, with the gss on his lips. “You what now from little girls?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. It doesn’t harm them at all.” She shrugged one shoulder. “The girls regenerate it soon enough. It just leaves them a little extra grumpy for a year or two around the ages of eleven or twelve. Not that most parents would notice the difference. I mean, girls that age, right?” She ughed. “Besides, I pay very well for the essence. The parents are always eager to do business.”

  Arwin gingerly took another sip. Well, the wine was rather tasty. And, as long as no little girls were harmed in the making of it, he supposed there were no ethical considerations about how the materials were sourced. Right?

  Silence dragged out.

  Arwin found himself unusually bereft of conversation skills. What to talk about with a woman like this? Bubble, bubble, toil and, hey, kill anyone recently? His eyes roamed the room as he desperately tried to think of something to say that wasn’t completely inane.

  Over the mantle rested a monstrously rge painting of a hairy tarantu at least three meters wide. The painting was so remarkably detailed that he could easily imagine the feel of the arachnid’s hairy body and limbs under his fingers. Not that he’d ever willingly touch such a monster. Honestly, who would paint such a thing? Worse, who would hang it on their wall? This woman was utterly obsessed with spiders.

  Despite the horridly creepy artwork above, Arwin was tempted to go over and warm himself by the fire to help recover from his time chilling in the dungeon. Then the painting moved. Arwin jerked in his seat, ready to spring up and away.

  "Don't mind him.” She chuckled. "He just likes to warm himself by the fire. A big, cuddly baby, that one."

  Arwin swallowed and gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. So that wasn’t a painting, after all. He struggled to pull his eyes off the tarantu and return them to his hostess. Maybe if he didn't look up, he'd forget it was there. And maybe pigs would fly. Actually, maybe they could here. Heartstone had magic. Apparently, anything was possible. A few days ago, magic had been fantasy. Now he was sitting down to dinner with a witch while a spider the size of a car sat on the wall overhead. How much more bizarre could this possibly get? No, scratch that st thought. He didn't want to know.

  The faint scream of a young woman carried through the room.

  Arwin’s eyes widened.

  "Ah,” the Enchantress announced, rising. "That will be the soup." She disappeared through the hidden door in the back corner of the room, not afraid to leave him alone for obvious, eight-legged reasons. She reappeared several minutes ter with two bowls of soup floating behind her.

  One of the bowls floated over to Arwin and settled down before him. It looked like tomato bisque and smelled faintly spicy. A leaf and a dash of spices garnished the centre, as stylish as something from a cookbook. Hesitating only a little, he picked up a spoon and dipped it in. He stopped before reaching his lips. "Um, there's a fly in my soup."

  "Of course.” She dug into her own with refined delight. "It's tomato and fly soup. There are lots of them in it." She took a mouthful and grinned.

  "I see,” he replied with little enthusiasm. At least the fly in his spoon appeared dead and cooked. Another popped up from within the broth and started doing ps around the inside edge of his bowl. Evidently still fresh, that one.

  "Haven't you ever tried it? Fly soup is delicious." The woman seemed to savour each bite. "And so nutritious. Insects are full of protein and calcium and all kinds of good stuff." She evidently caught the queasiness on his face and froze, the look of gourmet satisfaction draining from her own expression. "Ah, you don't eat insects. Of course, you don't. Especially being from Drearia. I imagine…they don’t eat…no. I see.” Embarrassed, she shook her head. "It's just been so long since I've cooked for anyone else..."

  That really surprised him. "You cooked?" Arwin asked, astonished.

  The enchantress’s expression went cold.

  Arwin tried to recover from his misstep. "Uh, it's just that I expected you to have servants, being so powerful and busy and all. Don't you have sves or something for that?"

  "No,” she replied, not looking up. "I live alone.” She continued eating her soup.

  "That must be...lonely."

  The hand holding a spoonful of soup over her bowl twitched before continuing to her mouth. “And I don’t condone svery. Most of the time. Unless they deserve it.”

  In his soup, the swimming fly exhausted itself. It paddled a couple of body lengths more and then stilled. Its head sank a little deeper into the broth, its butt sticking up in an undignified manner.

  How did the Greek fable go? I have eaten, I have drunk, I have taken a bath; so if I die now, what do I care?

  Arwin knew he was at a crossroads. On the one hand, eating flies was disgusting. On the other, he needed to make a good impression if he was going to get on her good side. If she even had a good side.

  Maybe she did? Despite being an evil vilin with an evil castle and an army of evil gremlins and spider minions, she'd cooked for him herself.

  She obviously loved the soup and was proud of it. He needed to eat this in order to show her that he cared about her feelings and appreciated her efforts. Even if he couldn't fake enjoying it, he needed to get it down and keep it down. He was pretty sure she'd react badly if he vomited undigested flies on her pretty table.