Sophrayni's Quiet Hunt Chapter 8.

Chapter 8.

 

Tess.

         

 

The girl sat on the edge of the bed and began to talk. “I was six when my parents died. One moment they were there—laughing, arguing, living—and the next, they were gone. My father was a woodsman, working for the Kingsman. Mother went out to take him his lunch, and somehow a tree fell and hit both of them. An accident, they said. The house felt too big after that. Too quiet.

Lord Rocco let me stay. Not out of kindness—I think he felt the accident was his fault somehow. I was small, quiet, easy to ignore. I kept to the edges of things—begging when I had to, trading favours when I could. The house stayed mine, though it never felt like home again.

People didn’t look at me much. Except Bessie Curlees. She was the town’s charmer. She had been for many years. She was popular, always surrounded by laughter. She could do little magics: light a candle with a thought, coax a flower to bloom in frost, charm away a wart, heal cuts and broken limbs. She knew a lot about making ointments and suchlike. Everyone in town went to her when they needed help with things like that.

I watched her. I tried to copy her. One evening I was there when she lit a candle without getting out of her chair. I went home and tried it on a stub of a candle. It took me a few goes, but in the end, it lit.”

Sophrayni grinned. “That’s how I began too,” she said. “Go on.”

Tess looked up, surprised by the warmth in Sophrayni’s voice. Encouraged, she continued.

“I tried the other things Bessie did, and I found I could do them like she did. Only… mine worked better.

I didn’t know how. I didn’t say spells or use charms. I just felt what needed doing, and it happened. Bessie noticed. She got very worried. She said I had to be careful of Calizone—the Witch of the Dark Forest would be angry and come and deal with me. So, I stopped showing what I could do.

I used my magic quietly—warming my hands in winter, calming a frightened dog, healing a bruise after someone shoved me too hard. It was enough. Would Calizone have done something to me?”

Sophrayni gave a nod. “Probably. She didn’t want anyone getting powerful enough to try to become the new Witch of the Dark Forest instead of her.”

She gave a dry chuckle. “She did that so well that when she needed a new witch, she had to search the whole kingdom until she found me. That was ten years ago. I wonder why she didn’t find you when she was searching.”

Tess counted on her fingers. “Ten years ago, I was four and my parents were still alive. I didn’t start trying to do magic stuff until I was about twelve.”

“That explains it. She stopped looking after she found me,” said Sophrayni. “When did all this start?”

Tess took a deep breath, her voice tightening. “I suppose it was about a year ago. That woman appeared and had a stall in the market. She sold the sleeping potion. It was very popular. Bessie got really annoyed about it, but people ignored her. I didn’t buy any because I had no money.

Once everyone in town had used the potion, that Wilgan horror arrived. Lord Rocco—who was, is, I don’t know—the proper Kingsman disappeared. His family went too. Wilgan moved into the Kingsman’s house with that woman. Not long after that, those guards arrived.

Bessie disappeared as well. I don’t know where she is now.

Then they came and took me. They tried to make me drink the potion, like I said. When it didn’t work, they locked me up. Then you came.”

Silence settled between them, thick as fog. Sophrayni looked at Tess—not just as a girl, but as something else. A thread that had slipped through Calizone’s net. A seed that had grown in shadow.

She reached out, gently, and touched Tess’s hand.

“You’re not alone anymore,” she said.

Then the thought struck her—sharp and cold. If Calizone had missed Tess, she had missed others too. Whoever that woman was—the one selling the potion, the one Wilgan had brought into the Kingsman’s house—she hadn’t come from nowhere. She had grown in the blind spots Calizone left behind.

Sophrayni leaned forward. “Do you know her name?”

Tess nodded. “Nesthana. But I won’t use her name.”

Sophrayni felt a chill that had nothing to do with the stone walls. Calizone had been brilliant, but she had been narrow. She had hunted threats, not possibilities. And now, the world was paying for what she hadn’t seen.

Nesthana. Not a copy. Not a puppet. A woman with power. A woman Calizone had never seen.

Sophrayni glanced around the cell again, her fingers brushing the rough stone wall. “This isn’t normal,” she murmured. “Kingsmen don’t keep prison cells in their houses. Not like this.”

Tess nodded. “It wasn’t like this before. Not when Lord Rocco lived here. The manor was old, but kind. Big windows, polished floors, tapestries with stories woven into them. I used to sneak in sometimes, when the servants weren’t looking. This was just storage rooms.”

She paused, eyes narrowing. “Wilgan had it altered. Or maybe she did. They brought in stonecutters from somewhere else—quiet men, fast workers. No one was allowed near the west wing while they worked. When it was done, the guards started using it. People who asked questions disappeared. People who resisted the potion were locked up.”

Sophrayni felt a chill crawl up her spine. This wasn’t just control—it was preparation. Nesthana had come to Burnock to stay.

“How did you get here?” she asked. “From your room, I mean.”

Tess gave a small, crooked smile. “There’s a servant’s passage behind the linen cupboard in the upstairs hall. It used to lead to the kitchens, but now it runs behind these rooms. The stonemasons didn’t block it off for some reason, so I can get from my room to here easily. Sadly, I can’t get to any of the other ones to see who’s in them.

I didn’t know you were here until I felt something… different. Like a hum in the air. That was you.”

Sophrayni blinked. “You sensed me?”

Tess shrugged. “You’re not quiet. Not magically, I mean. You’re like a storm behind a curtain.”

Sophrayni laughed softly, but her mind was racing. Nesthana had built a prison beneath a manor. Tess had slipped through it like smoke. And somewhere above them, she was watching.

“We can escape now?” asked Tess.

Sophrayni leaned back against the wall, her fingers tracing the edge of a loose stone. The cell was quiet now, but her mind wasn’t.

          She could break them out. She knew that. The walls were old, the enchantments crude. A single surge of her power would be enough to crack the lock, silence the guards, and vanish into the night.

But it would be loud. Visible. Unmistakable.

And once they saw her—really saw her—there’d be no hiding what she was. Not just a witch. Not just powerful. The Witch of the Dark Forest.

She glanced at Tess, who was watching her with quiet expectation. Not fear. Not awe. Just trust. That made it worse.

“We can’t,” Sophrayni said softly. “Not like that.”

Tess frowned. “Why not?”

“Because if I do, they’ll know. Everyone will know. And once they do, they’ll stop seeing me as someone who came to help. They’ll see the hat, the dress, the power—and they’ll remember Calizone. Or worse, the ones before her.”

Tess was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “So we need another way.”

Sophrayni nodded. “One that doesn’t burn the mask off my face.”

A sound echoed up the corridor—boots on stone, slow and deliberate.

Tess froze. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to Sophrayni. “Food,” she whispered. “They’re doing rounds.”

Sophrayni stood, instinctively reaching for the shadows in the corners of the cell. “Go,” she said. “Quickly.”

Tess was already moving. She slipped to the wall, pressed her palm against the seam where two stones met. A narrow gap opened—just enough for her to slide through.

Sophrayni watched, heart thudding. The girl moved like smoke, like someone who had learned to survive by not being seen.

Moments later, the door creaked open. A guard stepped in, carrying a wooden tray. Gruel, bread, a tin cup of water. He didn’t look at her, just set the tray down and left without a word.

Sophrayni waited until the footsteps faded. Tess reappeared, as silently as she had left.

“Don’t drink the water,” she warned.

Sophrayni waved her hand over the tray. The spell revealed itself instantly. The cup held a strong dose of the potion, laced with a binding spell. The gruel and bread were clean. She took a spoonful of the gruel and grimaced. “That’s salty.”

“That’s how they get you to drink the potion,” said Tess. “Hang on a moment.”

She stood still, eyes half-closed, lips barely moving. Then she opened them and said, “I’ve changed it to good, clean spring water.”

Sophrayni stared at the cup. No shimmer. No shift. No trace.

She was astonished. Magic usually left ripples—like a stone thrown into water. But what this girl had done left no sign at all.

Sophrayni began to understand why Calizone had been so concerned about other witches appearing. Tess could prove a problem—if, at some time in the future, she became powerful enough to challenge.

Calizone’s suppression of rival witches had left the kingdom vulnerable—not just magically, but politically. Nesthana hadn’t risen through rebellion. She had risen through absence. Through silence.

The question was: who—or what—is she?

And worse still: how many more had Calizone missed?