They strode into a large, formal dining room, the kind of thing that hosts parties for more than a dozen guests. With a stylish wave of the Enchantress’s hand, hundreds of candles flared 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 all about the room over their heads. 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 vanilla in the air? It seemed that either the fireplace or the candles were scented. Interestingly feminine touch. Not super villainy, though, was it? Unless this particular villain had a lot of class?

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 night had almost fallen now. Beyond a line of glass doors on one side of the room was a large 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 place. 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, rectangular, black wooden table riddled with white veins of sparkling quartz. Little red glass balls filled with flickering candles dotted the sparse table, and a royal purple runner sliced through the middle. Instead of chairs down the sides of the table, there were medieval benches with space to seat at least five or more on each side. The two ends of the table did, however, feature large, ornate chairs, the kind one might find in a royal palace. They were carved of some very dark gray, almost black, 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 villain, 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 laughed and toyed with him, teased and beaten him, and gone from witty to calm to angry in seconds. This was a very complicated woman.

Or: she was crazy. Because Arwin feared the wrath of women, he would not be making any generalizations about all women being crazy, not even in his own mind. Because they were all dangerous. And this one knew magic.

The Dark Enchantress, despite her vile reputation, was gorgeous, sexy, 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. Like the fact that Yaz was still chained up in her dungeon. Like the fact that she had a dungeon and not the kind used exclusively for kinky sex, though she probably used it for that too.

He was definitely attracted to her. Despite his recent relationship heartache, he still very much missed having a girlfriend and wished he had a loving, loyal partner in his life. Life was just much, much better when you were with someone else, and the two of you loved each other. But Arwin would be a fool to allow his lust or romantic desperation take hold of his feelings in this case. She might be beautiful and classy and smart and sexy and…what was the point he was trying to make? He lost the thread of his thoughts.

The Enchantress reappeared with two glasses of wine. She placed 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 glass 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 and water from an eternal hope spring. It counters the negative effects of the blueberries. And the process of counteraction produces mild carbonation, which I love.”

He paused sipping, with the glass 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 laughed. “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 large painting of a hairy tarantula 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.” The Enchantress casually 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 tarantula 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 last 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 later 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. 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 laps 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 slaves or something for that?"

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

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

"That must be...lonely."

“And I don’t condone slavery. 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; if I die, 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 villain 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. So, 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.

Forcing himself to be brave, he slipped the spoon into his mouth. Amidst what was actually an impressively tasty — and spicy — soup, the fly made a wet crunch. Refusing to let his stomach clench more than once, Arwin took another spoonful. "It's surprisingly good,” he told her. It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought she might have smiled a little.

When she finished her soup, the Enchantress returned to the kitchen. The main course soon sailed out. This time Arwin could detect a touch of uncertainty in her voice when she regained her seat and gestured at the dishes that she magically placed before her guest. A trifle defensively, she spoke, “It's meat. You do eat roast meat, don't you?"

"Do I want to know what kind?" he laughed.

A challenging and mocking grin took over her plush lips. "I don't know. Do you?"

He picked up his fork and knife and hurriedly replied, ignoring her question and no longer wanting an answer to his own, “It looks wonderful. I can't wait.” Arwin noticed her watching him. Refusing to contemplate what kind of meat a spider or gremlin might have dragged back for his mistress, he cut a chunk off and chewed it. Trying not to taste it much, he swallowed. Again, it wasn't bad. "It's actually pretty nice." It reminded him slightly of Korean barbecue. He ate another bit. Yes, it was actually really good! He smiled.

As if her posture wasn't always already perfect, she straightened a little more in her chair and seemed happy with herself.

Feeling proud of himself, he thought this dinner was going about as swimmingly as that fly had been in his soup. Arwin looked down to cut another piece of meat and stiffened. Was that a tentacle sticking out of — no, don’t look, just eat. Eat and don't think. You’re travelling; you’re trying new things. This is a good thing, he told himself. This was a new world to him, and of course people here were going to eat things that he’d never experienced before. Suck it up and be brave. Even if it looked super gross. It broadened his horizons.

With only the crackle of fire and tinkle of cutlery on plates, silence loomed again in the dining hall as they ate. Arwin felt that he should say something. But what to talk about? Why was his mind so blank around her all of a sudden? He sat back in the high-backed chair and glanced up towards the ceiling for inspiration.

And stared right into the eight giant, malevolent eyes and the gleaming, working teeth of a massive spider.

“Whoa!” Arwin threw himself towards the floor and away from the chair. He spun, scrambling away backwards.

The spider, the monstrous beast from the throne room earlier, had been half perched on the back of his chair, somehow unnoticed. How could something so large and with so many legs move so silently? It descended from the back of the chair. Unhurried, it came towards him, multiple eyes boring down on its human prey, mandibles working eagerly, ready to stuff torn pieces of Arwin into its gruesome mouth.

Barely looking up from her meal, the Enchantress calmly chided the creature, “Drathgar. Enough. He is my guest.”

But the spider didn’t pause. It rose up on its back legs in a battle pose over Arwin, front legs extended to strike.

Arwin tried not to cower, but he anticipated the needle-like appendages spearing through his chest and grew even more anxious. He was about to be eaten alive!

She scolded much more sharply, “Drathgar!”

The spider paused. It slowly lowered itself out of its striking pose.

Arwin breathed a sigh of relief.

Then the spider shot forward.

Arwin ducked, lying flat on his back with his arms protectively over his face. But no impact came. He cracked open his eyes.

Drathgar was already past, having walked right over Arwin. He now casually wandered off towards the nearest exit, legs audibly tapping away.

Arwin felt his heart hammering in his chest. The Enchantress might have seemed hospitable enough so far, but her arachnid general obviously did not care for him at all.

She apologized, “Sorry. We don’t get many guests, and he’s a bit over-protective.”

“Does he always try to eat visitors like that?”

“No. Not usually, unless it seems warranted.”

“So what’s he got against me?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps he’s jealous. I haven’t entertained a ma— anyone in quite some time.”

Arwin gulped. The plan might be to win over her trust so as to escape, but there was obviously no hope of doing the same with Drathgar. If Arwin gave it any reason at all, the instant the spider got the chance, it might very well pounce on Arwin and then suck all his blood out. Arwin had thought the Enchantress would be the biggest danger and that he’d be safe from her host of minions as long as she wished it. Apparently, he did not have as much security as he’d thought. Every moment he spent in this place would only become more dangerous. He and Yaz had to escape soon!

He mulled over how the Dark Enchantress had never actually said anything to Yaz about Epheria, avoiding giving him a direct, yes-or-no answer to his question. Was Epheria here? Had the Enchantress avoided answering on purpose?

Her voice interrupted his thoughts, “Are you going to finish your dinner or sit on the floor all night?”

He hastily stood and resumed his seat. Should he just come out and ask her about the princess? No. Too soon. Say something interesting to her, obviously. Get her talking about herself. People liked that. "So...um...enchanting. What's that like?"

Her eyes rolled up from her meal and flatly looked at him. Which was flexible of them, given how round the orbs were.

Arwin defensively held up his hands. "Uh, Drearian, remember? No idea about Heartstone or magic. Or how it works. But you seem to be very powerful. You have your own castle, a title, evidently a widespread and feared, uh, respected, reputation. Lots of, um, interesting friends." He glanced nervously at the tarantula above the fireplace again. "So you must be pretty special, right?"

Though immensely awkward in deliverance, the words seemed to have their desired effect. The woman appeared to thaw a little and spoke with pride, "I'm one of the strongest magic users in Heartstone. And one of the foremost magicists. No other would dare challenge me lightly. If they did, they'd quickly regret it. And many have.”

"So were you born knowing how to do magic, or...?"

"Born with it?" She scorned his suggestion and continued hotly. "I worked for it! Slaved for it. Sacrificed everything for it. All this," she gestured around, "is the result of hundreds of years of hard work, study, and so, so much sacrifice!"

"So that’s a no on the born with it then." Touchy subject?

She calmed down before continuing. "There are many magical creatures in Heartstone, such as centaurs and dragons and mermaids. The land itself is magical, producing things like beer bears or cheese cloth, which is used in the edible fashion industry. But most humans in Heartstone are not born knowing how to use magic. Not the kind I have. Some are born with maybe a small, innate talent because the magic of the land has seeped into their genes, passed along from parent to child, and manifests itself in some token manner. Like the ability to turn water into wine or bake bread without an oven. These are actually no more than minor genetic mutations, and it makes them no different from the centaurs and mermaids.”

“But you’re not like that.”

“Correct. I and other magic users like me have an additional organ in the brain and nervous system that allows us to harness magicons and nearby energy and matter. We can see magical structures and manipulate them. I can command the essence of the universe itself and shape it to my every will. It’s rather complicated. We’re not born with an innate understanding of how to do magic, only with biological potential. And, like any skill, it takes a great deal of practice to develop it.”

To prove her point, the Enchantress gestured to the side of the room. A coil of hard, white light shot out of her hand and coalesced into the form of a wrathful, murderous, and very male-looking demon half again as tall as a man. It had a snarling mouth full of fangs and razor-sharp claws. It seemed to be made of pure diamond.

Arwin stared at the statue, honestly impressed but glad this piece of art wasn't moving. "Wow. That's incredible.” He had to admit, she had dark tastes, but in its own right, despite being terrifying, the demon statue was pretty impressive. Beautiful even. It took real skill and artistry to create something like that. He glanced over at her. There might be more to this evil woman than people thought. “How did you sculpt this?”

“It’s a matter of shaping the image in your mind first, then mentally manipulating local matter and energy to adapt and become the elements and molecules needed and then arranging them in the desired physical structure. Of course, you have to learn all about how things work, how they fit together, and how to go about fitting them together. It’s very, very complex, depending on what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Arwin’s eyebrows rose slightly as he looked below the demon’s stomach and at the very thick and erect appendage there. “You have a very vivid imagination. Look at the size of his…!”

With a hurried wave of her hand, the statue vaporized into dust and disappeared in a flash of cold. She bitterly spoke. “Hmph. At least you didn't scream at the sight of my power. More than I can say for some people."

He ventured tactfully, ”You...do have unique tastes. But your magic is really something.” He smiled, partly at her to reassure her and partly because he’d finished the mysterious meat completely now and could finally put that trial behind him. May he never, ever find out what kind of creature it had come from.

The woman sullenly stared at her plate, lost in her own thoughts. "My skills have never been appreciated. Or all my hard work or the things I’ve accomplished. Or who I am—“ She cut herself off and sharply looked up, seemingly amazed at what she was sharing, and even blushed.

He empathized. “Sounds like you’ve had some difficult experiences. I’m sorry. People can be awful.”

“As if you actually care,” she scoffed.

“I do!”

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

“We can change that. Isn’t that what this dinner is about? Getting to know each other better?”

Her eyes filled with mistrust. She shot up from her chair, suddenly hostile. Sounding defensive, she growled, “Enough! This farce is at an end. Don't you think I know what you're doing? Playing me for a fool? Just pretending to be nice to me so that you can escape?"

Dammit! That was exactly what he'd been doing. But, to her, he swore up and down otherwise, desperately pleading, “No! I'm just making conversation. Honestly!” he dishonestly told her.

"Lies!" she spat and stalked forward, full of menace. Her fingers twitched, long nails like talons, her eyes burning into his own. Surely a nasty spell filled her mind, ready to transform Arwin into slime. Or worse.

He gulped.