Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms

by Sacchi Green

  The witch shook her head. “You’re a madwoman.”

  Sianna couldn’t help laughing. She couldn’t remember the last time she had truly laughed. It was far too long ago. “Perhaps,” she agreed. She looked across the fire at the witch. “I know you take no part in the affairs of men, but maybe you would be willing to help me free a captive dragon?”

  The flames were reflected, dancing, in the witch’s eyes. “How can you know you can trust me? You don’t even have my name.”

  “And I won’t ask for it,” Sianna said. “I know the power a name holds. You can give me your name if you want to, but now, I only ask for your help.” She hesitated, then added quietly, “You can call me Sia.”

  The witch rose. She walked lightly, as if barely touching the ground. She circled the flames to kneel at Sianna’s side. Her fingertips touched Sianna’s cheek, and she searched Sianna’s face with those golden eyes. Sianna looked away self-consciously. Few people paid attention to her, and fewer still looked at her so intently.

  The witch’s lips touched her brow, as soft and cool as her fingertips, then each cheek, then lastly, Sianna’s lips. Sianna’s breath caught, and for a moment, her lips parted, before she pulled back, flushed, mortified, confused.

  “You have my protection,” the witch whispered, lifting her hand. Her fingertips echoed the touch of her lips, light as air, and Sianna swallowed hard. “I am yours to lead.”

  Sianna’s hands were clenched around the edge of her tunic, and she nodded, looking down, then swallowed again. The words seemed to be fighting to get out. “We should get some rest,” she finally said. “We can start planning tomorrow.”

  “When I’m not being burned at the stake,” the witch agreed, rising. Her fingertips grazed Sianna’s cheek again, and Sianna felt gooseflesh rise the length of her body, a delightful shiver running through her. “Will you rest with me? It will be warmer. You are cold.”

  “W…with you?”

  Golden eyes glinted by the firelight. “I don’t bite,” she murmured.

  In hindsight, it was the worst night’s sleep Sianna had ever had.

  That was saying a lot for someone who had spent her life on the run, and had slept in hedges, and under carts and a thousand other cold and hard places that did not have a warm, slender witch’s body curled against hers.

  It was not something that had troubled her before, but then, no one—woman or man—had looked at her as the witch did: as if she were worth looking at. She knew she was not what anyone would consider beautiful. She was too broad, too muscular, too strong. Yet the witch had looked at her and touched her lips to Sianna’s.

  By the time the witch woke, Sianna had been up for hours. She had tried to sleep, but when the witch shifted against her and small breasts brushed against hers—unbound for the first time in days—the sensation was unbearable.

  She could nod and smile, though, and pretend that she was only thinking of the dragon and the citadel.

  They left the cave that day. The storm had cleared, and the sun was warm.

  “Your doing?” Sianna said dryly.

  The witch only smiled.

  They were several days from the citadel, but with some grass and oats, Tar seemed in fine spirits to carry them both. The witch rode behind Sianna, her arms around Sianna’s waist, her thighs framing Sianna’s. Sianna tightened her hands on the reins, drew steadying breaths, and tried to focus on her plans.

  It became easier the closer they got to the citadel.

  Every town and village they passed bore the scars of Talbot and the dragon. Seared bodies rotted on gibbets. People took their coin, asked no questions, and kept their eyes down. It was painful to see it. Her mother’s fear had been bad enough, but here, in the shadow of the citadel, people were broken.

  By night they took shelter in ruined houses, and the witch held Sianna as old nightmares flared anew. More than once, she woke, a scream caught in her throat. More than once, the witch held her, soothed her, stroked her brow, and once, just once, she had done so much more than kiss her until her head felt light and all nightmares were forgotten for a time. That was the night they were beneath the walls of the citadel, where the roars of the captive dragon could be heard echoing in the canyon that curved around the city like a wall.

  All plans were forgotten at the sound.

  Sianna felt frozen to the bone, a thousand memories smothering her: the blackness of the passages beneath the city, the smell of roasting flesh, the taste of bile and vomit in her mouth, bloodstains everywhere and the screams. Gods, the screams.

  She was pulled back to herself by warm, insistent lips on hers. The warmth seemed to spread from them, and she drew a breath. The parting of her lips was wordless invitation, and the witch deepened the kiss, her tongue darting against Sianna’s own.

  Sianna could not recall much else beyond the witch’s lips that night, or the silken feel of the witch’s silvery hair slipping through her fingers. She tasted of sweetwine and mint leaves, and left Sianna’s lips soft and bruised.

  Their lantern had burned low, but in the moonlight, the witch’s silver hair shone. Slender fingers undid tunic and mail. The strips of cloth binding Sianna’s chest unwound and soft, gentle hands caressed the aching skin, earning a whimper from Sianna.

  When the witch’s lips touched her breast, Sianna forgot any shame or blushes, and when the witch’s hand stroked across her backside, she drew the witch’s mouth back to hers. It was only a diversion, she knew, but by the Gods, it was most welcome.

  The witch’s hand slid beneath the waistband of her breeches, and Sianna stifled a sharp whimper as the witch’s fingers teased along the folds of her sex. She touched as if she’d touched Sianna a hundred times before, her eyes on Sianna’s face as one finger slid into her body, thrusting slowly, the heel of her hand grinding at the tight, hot, throbbing knot at the top of her sex.

  Sianna fell back on her elbows, her breath coming faster when the witch lowered her head, silken hair sliding along the tingling expanse of Sianna’s lined chest, and a catlike tongue darted over each nipple, then warm and cool breath washed over them in turn. Her skin was prickled with gooseflesh, and when the witch suckled on her breast, she could not stop one hand from moving to hold her there, teeth and tongue teasing a nipple that had been crushed and was aching with sensitivity.

  Her hips moved of their own will, grinding against the witch’s fingers, while her other hand kneaded at the witch’s back.

  She had no voice, no words but small, panting gasps as fingers thrust within her. The press of the witch’s hand, the heat of her palm, the warmth of her lips made Sianna’s head spin with giddiness, while eddies of pleasure washed through her. It rose like a tide, and she arched her back, keening into the night when the witch buried her fingers deep, until all was still and shivering silence.

  They should have lain still then, but the witch’s mouth was on hers, claiming her shivering gasps. She couldn’t recall which of them pulled the witch’s dress off, but like her hair, the witch nearly glowed in the moonlight, as pale and slim as Sianna was broad and dark, and they lay down together in the tangles of the blanket and the cloak.

  When they were spent and quiet, Sianna slept better than she had in days, her dark head resting upon the witch’s breast, flesh to flesh, safe and close. The witch’s fingers curled in her hair, and for a moment, Sianna knew peace.

  It was but a night. When dawn came, it was put aside, a pleasure and indulgence to be kept for later.

  There were whispers in the towns they had passed that Talbot intended to unleash his dragon again soon. If they were going to liberate it, it had to be immediately, and before anyone could suspect that two women were hell-bent on bringing down the tyrant. If they did suspect, Sianna thought wryly, they would probably laugh themselves sick. Women always were underestimated.

  The plan was simple.

  Everyone who had the misfortune of visiting the citadel, or living in it after its fall, could point visitors to the dragon
’s pit. The amphitheater was once where the citizens gathered to celebrate or watch performances. Now, the roof had been torn apart and replaced with iron grids that folded together to seal the beast in.

  Brave visitors could dare a peek through the bars, and that was exactly what Sianna and her companion did.

  The dragon was bigger than Sianna remembered. She felt sick with terror at the sight of it. The witch’s slim hand slipped into hers, and squeezed her calloused fingers in wordless support. Sianna took a steadying breath and nodded, forcing herself to search for some clue as to how the dragon was restrained.

  “Spikes,” she whispered to the witch, as they shared a bowl of soup in a tavern not far from the amphitheater. “There are metal spikes hooked into its jaw.”

  The witch looked ill. “Iron?”

  “Most like.”

  “No wonder it stays.” The witch pushed the bowl away from her. “Iron weakens all creatures of magic. They love gold, but hate iron.”

  Sianna stared at her. “That’s a weak dragon?”

  “Small, too,” the witch said quietly.

  Sianna’s hands were shaking. She didn’t notice when they’d started shaking, but they trembled so much she had to put her cup down. The witch’s hand covered hers, but she couldn’t meet the witch’s eyes.

  “I can free it,” the witch said softly. “Your intentions are good, but you need not face it.”

  Sianna looked up at her. “I have to,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “There are guards there, and soldiers, and I won’t have you getting killed for my damned stupid idea.” She lifted the witch’s hand, kissing the back of her fingers. “You’ve kept us unnoticed, but I need you there to open the gates.”

  A furrow creased the witch’s brow, but she nodded. “Come,” she said quietly, drawing Sianna by the hand, and leading her up to the small room they had taken above the tavern.

  On the narrow bed, she unrolled a strip of cloth, and lifted out a gold pendant on a braided strand of silk. She wrapped her hands around it, closing her eyes, and murmured words in a language Sianna could not understand. When her palms opened, the pendant was glowing, as if red hot. The witch lifted the silk, and laid it around Sianna’s neck.

  “A protection,” she whispered, pressing the pendant to Sianna’s chest. She rose on her toes, and her lips met Sianna’s. It was a soft kiss, chaste, but drew a shiver from Sianna nonetheless.

  “Another protection?” she asked faintly.

  The witch smiled, her fingertips to Sianna’s lips. “Only a kiss,” she murmured. She looked to the window. “The guards change just before dawn. Are you ready?”

  Sianna hesitated, then pulled the witch closer, kissing her for perhaps the last time. She could feel the witch’s smile against her lips. “As I’ll ever be,” she whispered.

  They exchanged a final kiss, then Sianna took up her sword, and made her way out into the fading night.

  The citadel was quiet, and Sianna knew it well enough to make her way down to the gates of the amphitheater. That was where the guards saw her. The witch had hidden them as much as possible, but no one could be truly invisible.

  There were more soldiers than they expected, and when she heard laughter as the seventh man knocked the blade from her hand, she knew why. Someone had betrayed her. The only person who had known was the witch.

  She sagged back against the barred doors, panting, her mouth metallic with blood, as a man dressed in his finery emerged from the shadows. He was some years older than her, and handsome in a gaunt way.

  “Boy’s his father’s double, isn’t he?” he said to one of the guards. “No wonder he was recognized. No one mentioned the old man had any bastards.”

  “Not acknowledged ones,” the guard replied. “We only knew about the princess.”

  “A secret prince, then.” The man smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Come of age and ready for vengeance on me, no doubt. Positively mythical.”

  “Talbot,” Sianna whispered.

  “So you’ve heard of me, then?” Talbot laughed quietly. “You have your father’s idiotic notion of heroism, boy. Come to slay my dragon, have you?”

  She stared at him. He was just a man, but he was the one who had taken everything from her. “Yes,” she whispered. “To slay your dragon.”

  He walked a little closer, but stayed out of arm’s reach. “Your father tried that,” he said. “He melted like butter in the sun. It was quite impressive.” He glanced through the gridded metal gate, then back at Sianna. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me where your sister is?”

  Sianna smiled at him. “No.”

  For a split-second, fury blazed in his eyes, then he laughed again. “Oh, well,” he said. He snapped his fingers and the remaining guards dragged Sianna to her feet. “If you’re so keen to fight my dragon, do try. It’s a little hungry, and I’m lacking in entertainment.” He picked up her sword, as she was shoved through the narrow gateway toward the pit. “Do try to last a little longer than your father, hmm?”

  Her sword landed in the blood-darkened sand at her feet, and the gates slammed closed.

  The place reeked of sulphur and blood and rotting flesh.

  Behind her, Sianna could hear the long, low rumble of a dragon’s breath. Gods, she felt sick to her stomach. Her sword was at her feet, and she could pick it up, arm herself, but the witch’s words came back to her: they love gold, but hate iron.

  Her trembling hand reached for the pendant at her neck.

  The witch was right when she said it was her protection.

  She turned, freezing in fright at the sight of the dragon. It was so close, so big, its teeth as long as her forearm. But it hadn’t attacked.

  Sianna stared up at it, holding its eyes, and removed her gauntlets and mail. The metal clattered and sang as it fell. She finally drew the necklace from her neck, the small disk of gold dangling from her hand.

  The dragon’s nostrils flared, and the massive head moved closer to her.

  She kicked aside the armor and approached, her feet making no sound on the sand. “A gift,” she whispered.

  Her heart almost stopped when the huge face came down to her level. The dragon sniffed at the gold, such a meager token, but without hesitation, Sianna bound the cord around one of the horns on its nose.

  “For you,” she said, her hands shaking so much she could barely draw the knot tight.

  A thunderous rumble in the dragon’s throat made her jump back, but the dragon remained where it was, slowly turning its head, revealing the spike sunk in behind the ruff of its neck. There was dried blood around it. Sianna stared at it, then ran back to the gate, snatching up her sword and shielding it in its sheath.

  Her step-father would have killed her for using a sword as a crowbar, but it worked. The spike pulled free in a mess of thick blood. She heard cursing, heard Talbot shouting, and ran to the dragon’s other side, levering the other spike out.

  She heard the whistle of an arrow, and heard the scream of the witch from above a moment before she felt the thump of the bolt into her back.

  “Oh,” she said blankly, falling against the dragon’s neck.

  The dragon raised its head, sending a blast of fire toward the gate.

  Above them, metal was screaming, and dewy daylight poured in through the grid that had been torn apart like paper. The dragon bellowed, snatching Sianna up in its talons and leaping, its wings spreading, as it burst up and out into daylight.

  Sianna could see the world rushing around her, her head light. She could feel throbbing where the arrow was imbedded in her back. “Down,” she whispered. The witch was down there, somewhere. The witch could help.

  But the dragon was free now. Why would it stay? Could it even understand?

  She didn’t know, and the world was fading around her. She heard cries, and before the blackness took her, hands on her face, and then only silence.

  The scent of sandalwood was the first thing that came back to her. Sandalwood and warm wax and hone
y. She was lying— on her belly—in a tangle of sheets, on a bed that felt soft as feather down, and there was no pain in her back.

  She opened her eyes, squinting, buttery daylight filtering through pale curtains that she recognized. Her chest felt tight as she pushed herself up onto her forearms, looking around. The royal bedchamber. It looked as it had before. Talbot must have appreciated its rare beauty.

  Something moved behind her and she sat up, turning sharply, reaching for a weapon that was not there. Nor was her clothing. She was bare, but for the sheets around her hips.

  The witch was sitting beside the bed. She looked pale and tired, as if she hadn’t slept, but she was smiling, and Sianna reached out to her.

  “You healed me?”

  The witch’s fingers tangled with hers. “A little.”

  Sianna threaded their fingers together. “The dragon?”

  The witch smiled slightly. “He and I may have…quieted Talbot and his supporters,” she murmured, tracing her fingertips along the back of Sianna’s hand. “A witch and a freed angry dragon who knows those who harmed him? They cast down their arms in seconds.” She nodded to a broad balcony beyond the windows. A coiled pile of red and gold scales lay there, slumbering in the sun. “He guards you now, and Talbot awaits justice in the dungeon.”

  “I thought you didn’t interfere in the affairs of men?”

  Gold eyes met hers. “We did not interfere in the affairs of any man.”

  Sianna’s heart fluttered strangely in her chest. “For me?”

  The witch’s lips touched their joined fingers. “My name is Falon,” she said quietly. Mischief lit in her eyes. “And I have a mind to have you here, in the would-be king’s bed.”

  Sianna tugged on her hand, drawing her onto the bed beside her. “This isn’t the would-be king’s bed,” she said, looking around the room that should have been hers. “This is the queen’s bed.”

  “We had best hope the missing heir remains missing,” Falon murmured, tracing her fingers along Sianna’s belly. “I doubt she would want to know about us getting up to mischief in her bed.”

  Sianna chuckled. “Too late for that,” she said. “You’ve already got into her bed once.”