by Aiken G. A.
“Maybe you should talk to the witches,” Keran suggested.
“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be gagging to tell me everything they know.”
“Were you being sarcastic that time?”
“Definitely.” Gemma scratched her jaw. “The Witches of Amhuinn haven’t exactly been friendly. I doubt they’ll spill their guts to me. And why should I ask them anything anyway?”
“Because it all started with them. Besides, you’re a monk.”
“So?”
“Aren’t you trained in interrogating witches?” Keran shrugged. “Just do that.”
* * *
The Witch Queen—Belinda to those who’d died many decades before—went over her tally of numbers again to make sure she’d gotten the math right. Nothing annoyed her more than when she was off by a point or two. It was sloppy and Belinda did not like sloppy.
Satisfied her numbers were correct, she started to sign off on the paperwork when the War Monk suddenly appeared before her, slapped her hands on the arms of Belinda’s throne, and threatened, “Tell me what you know, witch, or I shall burn you at the stake!”
Belinda didn’t have time to ask “What the unholy fuck did you just say to me?” before the monk’s cousin was there, grabbing the woman’s arm and dragging her kin off a few feet.
“What are you doing?” the cousin demanded.
“What you told me to. You said interrogate her as I’d been trained. That’s how monks interrogate witches.”
“Or you could ask her your questions like a normal person. That’s always an option.”
“I guess . . . although this seems faster.”
“Does it really?”
The monk rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll ask her nicely.”
“Again with the sarcasm.”
The monk stood once more before Belinda’s throne.
“I have a question,” she said with a forced smile.
“Yes?”
“How did you decide that my sister would be queen?”
“That’s actually a bit difficult to answer.”
The cousin suddenly appeared behind the monk. She was a good bit taller and towered over her the way the monk’s sister did. “Why is that difficult to answer?”
“Because in the past, when we were involved in choosing kings and queens, we did not do it the way your sister was chosen.”
“Chosen?” the monk repeated. “You mean by the gods?”
“No. That’s not how I mean. We are the Witches of Amhuinn. Our gods expect us to do the work.”
“The work? You mean, like, sacrifices?”
“Of course not. Barbarians make sacrifices. Our gods are math, science, and logic.”
“Are those just words you’re using?” the cousin asked. “Or actual gods?”
“Both.” Belinda leaned back on her throne. “Our order has been requested to choose a ruler about a dozen times over the past three thousand years or so.”
“Who requested it this time?”
“No one.”
The War Monk frowned. “What do you mean ‘no one’?”
“It means what you think it means. But we didn’t need anyone to request anything. It was obvious that the Old King would die, his many sons would slaughter one another until only the strongest remained, which was exactly what happened. The oldest three each have an army and definite plans of being the new Old King. Now the twins also remain, but they’re weak and will probably be eliminated before the true Brothers’ War comes to pass. Finally, when it’s all said and done, one son will be left standing. That one will be the new Old King. In other words, we were not needed to predict this eventual outcome.”
“If no one requested that you choose the new queen, then why did you choose my sister?”
“That was Delora. She said the gods had given her a name. The name of your sister.”
“I thought you said your gods expected you to do the work.”
The Witch Queen nodded. “They do. But she swears she’s a seer.”
“If you had no faith in her, then why did you give my sister’s name to the royal counsel?”
“I didn’t. Because I didn’t care what Delora saw, didn’t see, or thought she saw.”
“So Delora informed the counsel?”
“No. She informed the Dowager Queen before the Old King even died.”
“I thought the Old King had no wife. Only consorts.”
“That’s true. But there is one of his consorts who is brave enough to claim the Dowager Queen title, and that is Maila of the North.”
“Maila?” the cousin asked, moving around the War Monk.
“Yes. Maila. The mother of Prince Marius.”
* * *
Laila entered the healing chamber and started toward the bed. One of the demon wolves raised its head and snarled but she pointed a finger at him and warned, “Uh-uh.”
The beast rested his massive head on his paws and Laila moved to her brother’s side. She brushed her hand across his forehead and his eyes opened.
“Hungry?” she asked. But before he could answer, a high-pitched scream rang out through the chambers and tunnels.
Laila pulled her sword and moved to the foot of the bed, taking a battle stance. The demon wolves, now on their feet, all growling, stood on either side of her.
Witches poured out of the other chambers, rushing around, panicked. Another scream and, a few seconds later, Gemma stormed by, her fingers gripped tight in the hair of the witch Delora. The War Monk yanked the witch through the passageway, heading toward the throne room.
“Oh, shit.” Laila pointed at her brother, stopping him just as he was about to run after Gemma. “Stay here with Keeley!”
She followed Gemma instead, nearly colliding with Keran in the passageway.
“What’s going on?”
“As my mother would say,” the fighter snarled, “we’ve found rats in the pantry.”
Laila didn’t know what that meant but she went with Keran to the throne room.
As soon as Gemma passed through the entrance, she threw Delora to the floor. This was the War Monk Laila had seen when the farm was attacked. A warrior who felt her family was threatened and acted accordingly.
“What did my sister promise you, whore?” Gemma bellowed at Delora, her angry voice ringing out against the cave walls.
“Nothing!”
“Don’t lie to me!”
The witch, on her knees, held her arms out to the rest of her order. “My sisters . . . my queen, help me. Don’t let this War Mo—”
“Tsst!” the Witch Queen hissed, her gaze never lifting from the scroll she had before her, her quill scratch-scratching urgently against the parchment.
Delora’s watery eyes narrowed in anger. “What are you doing?”
“I am”—scratch, scratch—“busy calculating”—scratch, scratch—“the odds of”—scratch, scratch—“your being a treacherous cow.”
The queen finished, leaning back and announcing, “Look at that. The odds are huge in favor of your being treacherous.”
Delora stood. “You’d believe—”
“Numbers? Over you? Always. Numbers never lie.”
“The calculations could be wrong.”
Coming out of her seat, the queen roared, “My calculations?”
But several of the younger witches jumped in front of her. One of them begged, “Please! My queen.”
The Witch Queen sat back into her throne. “Be glad your sisters have such coolheaded natures.”
Gemma leaned in behind Delora and growled, “Too bad I don’t.”
“You don’t frighten me, War Monk,” Delora said to the pacing Gemma.
“Because you think you have my baby sister’s loyalty?” Gemma slipped her arm around Delora’s neck, letting it hang there casually like they were old friends. “The loyalty of a woman who stabbed her own sister? Does that seem . . . wise to you?”
“Basic logic.” The queen sighed. “Like math, that is not one of her best s
ubjects.”
“Why is she even here?” Laila finally had to ask. “Our chieftain has always told us we go to the Witches of Amhuinn for knowledge. But she’s stupid.”
“I am right here!” Delora barked. “A little respect!”
Gemma tightened her arm around Delora’s throat and said softly, “Shut. Up.”
“She’s a legacy.” The queen pointed at Delora. “Her mother . . . one of the best witches I ever knew. Math, science, logic, history. They all fell at her feet, determined to be her possession. She was brilliant enough to be—”
“Witch Queen,” Delora snapped.
“True.” The sitting Witch Queen smirked. “Sadly, she had one great weakness. She insisted on mating with stupid men. Not the Warlocks of Godomor. Not the Monks of Spikenhammer library. Not even the War Monks . . . no offense.”
“A little offense taken,” Gemma admitted.
“I mean, at least you lot have enough knowledge to raise the dead. That’s impressive. Disgusting but impressive. But Delora’s mother . . .”
“Beware what you say, crone,” Delora hissed.
“She kept. Fucking. Idiots. For years she only bred boys and we just sent them away. The smarter ones went to the Warlocks of Godomor and the stupider ones, we didn’t care. But then she had Delora,” she said on another long, painful sigh. “As per our laws, we had to keep her. So sad. While our other legacies soared in every subject, for dear, sweet Delora, schooling was nothing but a struggle. Math . . . a struggle. Science . . . a painful struggle. Basic logic . . . nothing! Then, one day, she announced that she had been blessed by the gods and was a seer.”
“Were her predictions right?” Laila asked.
“Mostly. From what we could tell.”
“How did you manage that, I wonder?” Gemma asked, pulling Delora in tighter and pressing her jaw against the top of the witch’s head.
Then . . . slowly . . . Gemma’s expression began to change as realization dawned.
“Were all her predictions . . . royalty based?” the War Monk asked.
The Witch Queen gazed at Gemma for a very long moment before she finally said, “As a matter of fact . . . yes. Yes, they were. Something that the other royals and the Old King truly appreciated.”
Gemma began to laugh and Delora yanked herself away.
“Keeley was always right about her,” Gemma said amidst her laughter. “Beatrix is fucking brilliant.” She put her hands to her head. “She planned all of this!”
“You don’t know that, Gemma,” Keran argued.
“I do know that. I feel it. Not using premonition, either. Just logic. It’s what she’s always wanted.”
“To be queen?”
“To be in power. And she used you two idiots”—Gemma pointed at Delora—“you and the Dowager Queen to get it. And you let her!” she finished on a laugh.
“No offense to you and your family,” the Witch Queen kindly noted, “but none of you have royal blood. We checked both your lines when Delora made her prediction and there’s”—she shrugged—“nothing.”
“Beatrix promised Maila something. And Maila, in turn, promised her something.”
They all focused on Delora and the Witch Queen smiled. “My job. She promised her my job.”
“I should be Witch Queen,” Delora insisted, which got nothing but brutal laughter from her witch sisters.
“But why kill Keeley?” Laila asked over the laughter. “I mean, your sister lives, Gemma, but that was clearly not the plan.”
“I don’t know. To prove Beatrix’s loyalty to Prince Marius?” Gemma studied Delora. “They’d consider Keeley a threat if they thought she might become queen and push the current royal family out. Especially if Beatrix promised she would never do that herself.”
Now they were all studying Delora and saw the panic on her face. The fear. Then, her expression changed. False bravado spread around her like a blanket, and her grin was wide as she looked straight into Gemma’s eyes.
That’s when Gemma told the Witch Queen, “Gods, you’re absolutely right. The bitch has absolutely no logic.”
“None.” The queen tossed up her hands in defeat. “I can forgive a lack of skill with science or math, but ye gads, the lowest animals have common sense. Crows have logic. Rats. But you,” she said to Delora, “nothing but empty space.”
“What are you talking about?” Delora demanded.
Gemma shook her head. “Do you really think my sister will put you on this throne?”
“Especially when she doesn’t plan for there to be any throne,” the queen tossed in.
“What do you mean?”
Leaning forward in her seat, the Witch Queen growled at Delora, “She needs you dead, stupid girl. She needs all of us dead.”
“She can’t risk the truth getting out.”
“I would never tell,” she whispered. “I promised Maila I would never tell.”
“But you’d always know, ya dumb cow!” Keran practically cheered.
“And you’d be able to hold it over her,” Gemma reminded her, “as long as you live.”
“And that, Sister, is something that a future queen cannot have.”
Delora began to debate, attempting to convince herself, Laila assumed, but Gemma’s head lifted and she held up a finger to quiet everyone. Her gaze moved to the high ceiling of the throne room. Everyone fell silent . . . waiting.
Laila’s sensitive ears heard it soon after. The whistling. And she was running back to her brother when Gemma screamed out, “Move!”
* * *
The first fireballs crashed through the ceiling, turning everything around them into flame and destruction.
Gemma pulled a few witches out of the way and stomped out the burning gown of another.
“Go!” she yelled at Samuel. “Get to my sister! Take Keran with you!”
She ran to the throne, but the Witch Queen was already moving, with several of her assistants beside her.
“You know what to do,” the Witch Queen ordered. “Don’t delay. The doorway will only be open for five minutes.”
Gemma grabbed the Witch Queen’s arm and pulled her around. “Come with us! We’ll protect you!”
The queen laughed and pressed her hand against Gemma’s cheek. “You are not what I expected, War Monk. But you need not worry for us. We are leaving this place until all things are settled.”
“This world?”
The Witch Queen’s confused frown embarrassed Gemma even as the fire around her spread.
“No, woman. We are going to the Northlands. Far away from here. Witches there will protect us and our books and papers until we can come back. They are warriors, a lot like you. We’ll be safe with them.” A large book was pushed into the queen’s arms. “I must flee, Monk. But there is something you must remember. Keeley isn’t dead. And we will not be here to agree or disagree about who was named queen.”
“Delora was just lying about Keeley.”
“She was lying about Beatrix as well.” The queen reached up and placed her hand on Gemma’s shoulder. “I’m guessing your sister is using Marius’s forces to attack our fortress. A fortress that has stood here for more than four thousand years without incident. Beatrix is a dangerous woman. She will take down anyone who gets in her way. But your sister Keeley . . .”
“Is just a blacksmith.”
“Don’t underestimate her. You’ve already made that mistake with Beatrix. And see where we are now?”
“The door is open, my queen!” a voice yelled from one of the nearby tunnels, while the sounds of wind battered the walls as fireballs battered the building. “Please! Come!”
“Good luck to you, War Monk.”
“And to you, Witch Queen.”
Delora attempted to push by the queen, trying to run down the hall where the doorway had been opened. But the Witch Queen caught the bitch by the collar of her dress and yanked Delora back, tossing her to the ground.
“Where do you think you’re going, traitor?” the q
ueen asked.
“You can’t leave me!”
“You can die here with your collaborators,” she tossed over her shoulder, waving as she walked off.
“Noooo!” Delora cried out. She scrambled to her feet and again tried to enter the tunnel. But Gemma wasn’t about to let that happen.
She grabbed Delora by her hair and yanked her around. With a quick swipe of her eating dagger, she slit the witch’s throat from ear to ear.
Gagging, Delora dropped to her knees, her hands around her throat, attempting to stanch the blood. But within seconds, she was facedown on the floor and unmoving.
Gemma pressed her hand against the witch’s back and chanted the song of death.
The corpse stood again and Gemma pointed at the doorway. “Go. Kill the enemy,” she said, knowing the bitch wouldn’t make it far. But she still deserved this end.
Gemma rushed back to the healing chambers, but by the time she arrived, her unconscious sister was already on a pallet and the pallet was attached to a work harness that Caid and Laila had somehow gotten on the wild horse. The demon wolves surrounded the horse and Keeley.
“Where are we going?” Gemma asked, moving past her cousin, Samuel, and the horse, so that she’d be ahead of them all.
“Amichai lands,” Laila replied. “We’re not that far.”
“All right. Stay behind me. Be ready for anything. Kill anyone who gets in our way.”
“Or,” Laila quickly suggested, “we can try to survive this by sneaking out a back way that I know.”
Gemma shrugged. “If you insist on going with logic . . .”
Smirking, Laila took the lead. With a dramatic shake of her fine mass of hair, she shifted to centaur. The tips of her antlers nearly touched the stone ceiling. They were not as big as her brother’s . . . but they still made a dramatic statement.
Gemma pulled out her two short swords and adjusted her shoulders, ready for battle.
“Wait!” Keran abruptly called out as she ran back into the healing chamber.
“We need to move, Cousin!”
Keran returned but she now held Keeley’s hammer.
“She’d have killed us all if we’d left this behind,” she said with a smile.
And her cousin had a point.
CHAPTER 15
The journey was long, but Caid barely noticed. He ate, but only when his sister put food in his hand. He slept, but like a prey animal. More awake than asleep, waiting for an attack at any time.
