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“I am going to eat. You are welcome to glare at me while I do so.” Following her nose, Fionna stalked in the direction the smell of food came from.
She seated herself at the far end of a bench and went rigid when someone hissed, “Hussy.” Thecomment came from a disapproving woman wearing an apron and carrying out a platter.
Fionna bit her tongue, didn’t lift the woman and hang her upside, and reminded herself these people abided by a different set of morals and rules than she was used to. Not easy given the disrespect thus far. Thankfully she wouldn’t be here long. She’d go see this afflicted soldier, fix him if she could, and leave.
Or not.
Amelia wanted her to poke around and see what she could find. That wouldn’t be easy if people kept giving her shifty side eyes and snarky replies to every word that came out of her mouth.
The final straw came when she finished her breakfast—eaten quickly given the barely palatable porridge—amidst much whispering and stares. She rose and the pockmarked soldier barked, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the dungeon where I have business.”
“Oh no, you’re not.” Pockmark stood in front of her, blocking her path.
She could have used magic to brush him aside, but she had to play nice lest she cause a diplomatic incident. “I’m supposed to visit with a prisoner.”
“Doubtful. No visitors allowed.”
Annoyed, she encased herself in a buffering shield and strode past Pockmark, buffeting him as she passed.
He yelled, “Get back here.” His cry led to more guards getting in her way.
“Oi, you!. Where do you think you’re going?” bellowed a fellow with a full red beard and matching long hair.
“To do my job,” she grumbled.
“Don’t let her leave,” huffed Pockmark, joining his fellow soldier.
The pair of them glared and she lacked the patience to argue. She grabbed some threads of air and shaped them into a shove. The guards stumbled apart, and she marched past. One of them ran after her but before he could tackle her, his feet slipped out from under him.
He rose, groaning and yelling, which led to more guards coming at a trot, but they couldn’t catch her as she raced up the stairs of the tower only to emerge on the top floor where two more soldiers snapped to attention.
“Halt! You’re not allowed to be here.”
“Out of my way,” she growled, stomping for them.
One of them extended his sword. “Don’t make me kill you,” he warned.
“I am not in the mood,” she huffed and kept marching. Before he could swing, she hardened her hand with magic and slapped his blade aside. When the other soldier came at her from the right, she whirled and kicked. Not the most accurate of swipes given her skirts tangled in her legs, but enough to surprise the fellow.
Which was when the door opened and the warlord barked, “What are you doing?”
“Defending myself,” she snapped.
“Not you, them.” He glared at the soldiers. “How dare you accost my guest!”
“Guest? We didn’t know,” whined the one who’d faced her with a sword. A sword that now drooped limply in his grip.
“I left word about her with Menno. Did he not brief you?” The mighty scowl had them trembling. She kind of approved.
“Menno is still abed, Warlord. Some kind of illness of the stomach.”
“Well, now you know. Tell the others that Fionna is here as my guest and is to be given free rein of the citadel, and that includes my quarters.”
That widened the eyes of his men who then slewed a gaze at her, the kind that suddenly got even bigger with misunderstanding. “Yes, Warlord. We’ll put out word about your female companion.”
With that they fled, and she growled, “They think I’m your whore.”
