Page 75 of Reign

“How did you manage to get that information out of her?” he asked.

“With a plan not unlike the one you suggested.”

Before I could elaborate, the door swung open.

Now fully clothed, Emma bounced into the chamber, her brown kirtle swishing as she shut the door behind her. She twirled toward us, then startled like a bunny caught out in a storm at the sight of Bash and me.

“Good eve,” she said.

Though her words were meant for the two of us, her gaze lingered on Margaret.

“God aefung.” Good evening, I offered in Yfelle, knowing the tongue would set her at ease.

Emma’s eyes filled with wonder. “Thee’ar wiccas?” You are wizards? she asked.

Bash and I nodded in unison.

“Entriken.” Interesting, Emma said as she lowered herself to the floorboards, hugging her knees to her chest.

Then, in a lilting cadence, she intoned:

“One from the sea and one from the land,

One will be a woman, the other a man.

A lost language and locket shall show them the way,

A tempest will blow on their visiting day.

Both will have magic marking their hands,

Take our advice and heed their demands.”

Bash politely clapped at Emma’s performance, though his furrowed brow hinted at his confusion.

“Was that a nursery rhyme?” I asked, joining in the applause.

Emma gave me a girlish giggle. “No—it was a prophecy I heard in my dreams last night.”

“She has the gift of sight,” Margaret explained. “She can foresee the future.”

Emma shook her head, her braids swaying like rope swings. “I cannot see anything, but I can hear what’s coming. Sometimes the prophecies are vague, like hushed whispers in a crowded chamber. Other times, the voices are deafeningly loud.”

Her eyes widened as she continued, “When the soldiers visit the Anchor, I can hear a hum of what their future holds. I know who’s destined to perish at sea or on the sands.”

“You don’t try to save them?” I asked, my thoughts drifting to slain Tom—my little prodigy.

“I’ve tried,” Emma admitted. “I’ve stood on the cliffs, casting incantations to protect men destined to die. But once the words are spoken, their fate seems set in stone,” she said, frustration tinting her voice.

“Why stay in Cambas if your prophecies cannot change anything?” Bash asked, and I thought that was a valid question—Cambas was a bleak place.

Emma dropped her eyes. “We all have our reasons. I’m a runaway, with nowhere else to go.”

Jane sighed. “Orphaned.”

“Widowed,” Margaret added. Her gaze grew distant. “Most townsfolk fled when the first wave of soldiers arrived. With so many men flooding in, the Anchor is now busier than ever. I desperately need the coinage.”

A moment of silence settled over the chamber while each woman stared pensively at her lap. The weight of their burdens hung heavy in the air, stirring deep sorrow within me for their plight.