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“You think the answer is in a book?”
“I think what we’re seeing is a threat resurfacing from your kingdom’s past. I’m hoping to find a mention of it. Maybe even the method by which they defeated it in the first place.”
“And if there isn’t any information, what then?” he asked.
“Then pray for a miracle because that thing might be right when it says no man alive can kill it.”
“Everything can die. Some are just harder to kill than others.”
“I hope you’re right,” she murmured even as she didn’t believe it.
As they reached the main level, they came upon a cluster of people standing in the main hall. The group ceased speaking and turned to eye Fionna and the warlord. A woman in a drab-colored gown, her hair white and bound atop her head, her gaze bright and sharp, perused Fionna.
The warlord groaned.
“What’s wrong?” she muttered.
“It’s my mother. Brace yourself.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see.” He gave an ominous reply.
“There you are. I heard you had aguest.” The inflection in his mother’s statement emerged cold and unwelcoming.
“Morning, Mother. I take it you came to meet Fionna, an envoy visiting from Acca.” He actually used her current kingdom rather than another but stopped short of labelling her a witch.
“Why are you treating with those charlatans?” his mother huffed.
“A pleasure to meet you, too, ma’am.” Fionna loved to counter rudeness with extreme politeness.
The woman sniffed. “I cannot say the same. What do those hags in the marshes want with my son?”
“Mother, perhaps we should adjourn somewhere more private to have this discussion.” Firmly spoken and punctuated by the warlord grabbing his mother by the arm and leading her away.
As they left the main hall, a man stepped forward, an older version of the warlord. He cleared his throat. “My lady, I hope you’ll forgive my wife. She was most perturbed to hear via gossip of your sojourn at the citadel and insisted we rush over.”
“I cannot fathom why she’d be bothered. I am here on a diplomatic mission.” A roundabout way of saying she performed a favor for the warlord, so not exactly a lie.
“Don’t blame her, but the salacious rumor that has you labelled as something different.”
“Let me guess, she thinks I’m here to steal her precious son.” Fionna snorted. “Does everyone in this country assume a woman is a whore simply because she’s not married and birthing babies?”
The man coughed. “Alas, yes. The roles of women in Srayth differ greatly from those in Acca or elsewhere.”
Rather than continue on that vein, Fionna stated, “You’re the warlord’s father.”
“Yes, I am Gurlok, and that was my wife, Silia. Kormac is our only son, so you’ll have to forgive her protective nature.”
“You used to be the warlord?”
“Yes, for just under three decades after I took on the role after my father.”
“It’s inherited?”
“No, however, it just so happens that in the challenges we use to decide who will rule, our family keeps winning.”
“Strong bloodline.” Then she blurted, “Who was Airiok?”
