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“Says you. You might want to wait. She was in a foul mood this morning.” Jezebel’s lips turned down.
“What set her off this time?” Fionna hadn’t spoken to Amelia since the evening repast.
“You know that since the marsh drained, we’ve run into issues with rats and other vermin looking for new homes. Well, a few of them found their way into a grain storage chamber.”
Fionna winced. “Not the one we just got a shipment for?”
“The exact one. She’s not too happy about it.”
With reason. The treasury had taken a beating since the waters flooding their lands receded. What initially seemed like a good thing—because Acca used to be a fertile land before the flooding—had led to unexpected issues. The displacement of the small hamlets that could no longer support themselves since the fish and frogs that used to feed them disappeared with the water. The larger predators expanded their hunting zones in search of food for the same reason. And then there were the monsters. Oversized creatures, many of them long thought extinct, suddenly cropping up everywhere. They’d hired outsiders, hunters by trade, to help with the situation since they didn’t have enough witches with fighting skills to handle them.
“In that case, all the more reason for me to show her this and give her a good laugh.” Fionna waved the message capsule.
Laura, the second guard who’d been silent until now, pursed her lips. “We’re not supposed to let anyone in.”
Fionna arched a brow. “I am her adjutant. I don’t need your permission to enter.” The reminder that she outranked the older woman rankled and Laura bristled.
Any conflict that might have arisen got squashed by Amelia’s voice projecting through the door without muffling. “Let Fionna in.”
No surprise the witch queen knew what happened outside her office. Some claimed she could see through walls and doors. Others that she had the gift of prescience. Fionna knew for a fact it was a bit of both.
With permission from the witch queen, and resisting an urge to stick out her tongue, Fionna entered Amelia’s office. “We got a message,” she declared, pulling the missive from her bodice and waving it. “You’ll never guess from who.”
“The warlord of Srayth.”
So much for surprising her mentor. “Since you know of its arrival, I assume you know what it says?”
“No, that part wasn’t shown to me.” Amelia held out her hand. “Let’s give it a look.”
Fionna handed it over and as the witch queen read it, remarked, “It’s rather bold of this warlord to ask you to send someone given it’s well known his people hunt witches.”
“They don’t hunt them anymore.”
“But they still hate us.”
“Not hate so much as not understand,” Amelia murmured. “The citizens of Srayth have reason to be skeptical as their lands are practically barren of the magic that exists elsewhere.”
“Is it nonexistent, or do those savages kill all those who had it?” Fionna muttered. The superstitious could be dangerous. She should know. If it hadn’t been for Amelia rescuing her after the first time she used her power, she’d probably still be locked away. It had taken years before she’d understood her treatment by the magistrate and others came from fear. Fear she’d do to them what she’d done to that evil mercenary. It should be known she didn’t regret killing him, she just wished she’d done it before he murdered her mother.
“I told you they stopped killing witches and a good thing, too, or you wouldn’t be here.”
Fionna blinked. “Excuse me? Are you getting senile in your old age? I’m not Sraythian. I’m from Ulkruuba.”
“You were in Ulkruuba when I found you, but your mother was originally from Srayth. She fell in love with a travelling merchant and moved to be with him.”
“How did I not know this?” Fionna couldn’t help the indignant note to her query. Almost thirty years she’d known Amelia, and she never thought to mention it?
“It wasn’t important before.”
“Why is it important now?”
“That will become clear shortly. First, let us discuss the request. The matter the warlord wrote of is quite concerning.”
How did Amelia figure that when the note barely said anything? Fionna had no problem recalling its brief content.
We have a soldier possessed by a murderous spirit. Send a healer.
“Concerning how?” Fionna snorted. “Sounds to me like someone got into the datura.” An herb which, if smoked, could cause violent hallucinations that lasted for weeks before it wore off.
