Ellen was called from the room where she sat next to the tall man, Lars. A tang of iron and sweat still hung in the air and she felt thankful that she could finally leave. A servant led her to a room which she entered. Sir Ivan sat at a desk where crumpled papers lay strewn. He looked pale, his mustaches quivering as he stared straight ahead. A quill made from a long white feather was held ready in his hand, as if at any moment he would set it into action.

The room felt stuffy; it was almost harder to breathe there than in the room she had left. Once again something felt terribly wrong. She closed the door behind her, clasping her hands behind her back to hide the red stains that she hadn’t yet washed away. Sir Ivan looked up at her, his reverie broken. 

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

“Of course.”

It was confusing standing there looking at Sir Ivan and him gazing back with empty eyes. He had asked for her but now he was showing no sign of wanting to tell her what he wanted. Just sitting there.

“You called?” She said.

He nodded, sighed and set down the quill in a stand.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said and sighed, rubbing his face with one palm. “Ragna is angry that Lars is here, she wants him out.”

“Why?”

He sighed again, “she doesn’t want to have a peasant living under our roof.”

Ragna had seemed like such a nice person. But this was an entirely different world and Sir Ivan had already made clear that he thought of them as lesser. 

“It would be good for him if he isn’t moved immediately. I have bandaged it, and I think he will make a full recovery,” Ellen said. Inwardly she swore at herself for making that kind of promise. Why could she never keep her mouth shut?

Sir Ivan was nodding, he had that far off staring expression again. As if he wasn’t quite hearing her. 

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Ellen asked.

“It might be for the best if you could convince her,” he paused and looked up at her, “of course it is only that I wouldn’t want such an able worker to be lost.”

“No, of course.”

Of course, she was an idiot for thinking that he genuinely could care about peasants. 

She stormed out of the room and went to look for Ragna. A servant pointed her out a back door.

Outdoors the day was still bright, though Ellen’s stomach grumbled, indicating the late hour. Red, pink and white roses blossomed and spread their sweet heavy perfume. A snipping sound caught Ellen’s attention, and she walked around a large bush to find the source of the noise. Ragna stood cutting roses, carefully pruning away leaves from the stems and laying them in a large woven basket she carried in the crook of her arm. She looked up at Ellen, then shook her finger as she scrunched her face together.

“Are you alright?” Ellen asked.

“Fine! You’ve seen enough blood for today, can’t go around doing daft things and giving you more work,” Ragna answered, pressing her finger into her frilly apron.

“Those are lovely roses.”

Ragna smiled. “Thank you, dear. I’ve been growing these roses since I married Ivan.”

“I would love to have a garden filled with roses and other lovely flowers,” Ellen said.

“But, my dear you will. The cottage you will live in has a garden, and you should of course grow all the practical plants that a Witch might need.”

“But I know nothing about gardening.”

“I can teach you.”

“I would like that.” Ellen paused before broaching the topic that she knew Ragna would not like. “It would also make me happy if you let Lars stay for at least a night. He is wounded and needs to rest to make a full recovery, moving him too early might lead to irreparable damage for him.”

Ragna pressed her lips together, staring angrily at Ellen. 

“But that was the room you were to stay in. No, it is not possible. He has to go. And besides he has a home of his own to go to.”

“I will return to Harald’s family,” Ellen said. It was of course the perfect solution. She could see how Sebastian was doing and Lars could stay the night. 

Ragna gaped at her for a moment before speaking, “no, you cannot go back to that peasant’s cottage. It is bad enough that a woman like you would have spent one night there. What if you come down with something or other? You are much too valuable.”

Ellen could feel herself recoil inside. Ideas of class completely blinded this woman. 

“I am not more valuable than anyone else. Every person has the same value and I will help anyone who needs my help. That man in there needs your help, but you seem to want him to die.” As she spoke her voice rose, her hands clenched into fists.

Ragna leaned her head back as if to stare down her nose at Ellen. It seemed as if she didn’t know what to say because she threw down her basket of roses and stomped off through the garden. 

Ellen knelt to pick up a rose. She swore and dropped the rose when thorn cut deep into her thumb. A fat red drop oozed to the surface. For a moment she looked at the blood running down her hand. Then she sucked at her thumb to numb the pain. It already felt much better. When she looked at it again, there was no more blood, and the deep cut was only a small prick on her skin.