Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he warlord didn't come to fetch Fionna for the morning meal. Not surprising, seeing as she rose before dawn, still agitated by the theft of the book. She'd looked high and low for it, rifling through every cupboard, snooping under the bed, everywhere it might have been placed by a servant or lost because it fell.

When that proved fruitless, she'd reported to Amelia via the mirror. It was a brief conversation as the witch queen was in the midst of some castle repair. It would seem with the draining of the waters, damage to the foundation was revealed. Fionna couldn't help but be glad she didn't have to lay brick with the other witches living in the keep as they didn't have masons to hire, their home being the only structure of stone. The marsh dwellers tended to gravitate to wooden homes on stilts.

Fionna spent a restless night, her sleep fraught with nightmares of some unseen monster chasing her, interspersed by moments with the warlord. Moments where he wore little clothing. She'd been particularly riveted, watching him bathe in a river, his bulky muscles rippling, his skin glistening with moisture. She'd woken with her thighs slick with sweat and her vulva aching.

Hopefully not an infection. Just in case, she took a moment to check her body's threads for signs of illness. She saw nothing, and after she bathed all seemed normal again.

Despite the early hour, she found the warlord's father sitting in the dining hall with a full plate.

"Good morning, sir," she said, taking a place beside him. It would have been rude to ignore the man sitting alone.

Gurlok offered her a smile. "Good morning, envoy. Did you pass a pleasant night?"

"I did, thank you. And you?" she politely asked.

The man shrugged. "I did once my wife stopped ranting." He glanced at Fionna. "You made quite the impression."

"I do apologize. I'm afraid I might have been a tad too open with my opinions."

"Don't apologize. You said some of the same things I have. Kormac is capable of finding his own wife in his own time. He tends to be stubborn when he feels forced."

"I'm surprised his mother doesn't recognize that trait, seeing as how they're so alike."

Laughter shook Gurlok's whole body. "Indeed, they are, which is why they clash so often."

"I probably should have sat elsewhere this morn. She won't be happy if she hears we're having a meal together. She really dislikes me."

"She is convinced you are seducing Kormac with your wicked witch ways."

Fionna snorted. "Love spells aren't a thing."

"I don't think it's magic that has Kormac intrigued by you."

"Hardly intrigued," Fionna quickly countered. "He just seems overly interested because of the situation."

"He's not usually one to hover over people doing their job."

"He's worried about his friend," she replied.

"Have you made any progress?"

"Some. The curse afflicting him is tricky."

"I'm sure Amelia wouldn't have sent you if she didn't think you capable of handling it."

The use of her mentor's name and not title startled. "You know Amelia?"

"I do, not that it's common knowledge. She visited once, in secret. Claimed she'd had a vision and warned me to watch my borders carefully."

"Did she say why?"

He shook his head. "No, and I wish I'd taken her more seriously. Alas, at the time, as a newly minted warlord and brash about our current peaceful state, I didn't. Perhaps if I had, we might have caught the situation earlier."

"I don't think it would have mattered. There are problems plaguing the entire continent, as if a long-sleeping menace has awakened. While you've not really seen a surge of monsters yet in Srayth, I fear it is only a matter of time."

"Kormac mentioned the dragon spotted in the pass. Perhaps it won't leave the mountain."

"I wouldn't count on it," she warned. "And where there is one, there will be others. They've been multiplying in number in the past few years. You should look into the construction of ballistae and large harpoons to defend your city."

"It's interesting you mention those as some of the artwork from Airiok's time showed him using such weapons."

"Do you still have any of those defenses?"

Gurlok shook his head. "They deteriorated due to age and lack of use. They were never rebuilt."

"It might be time to re-arm your country," her grim prognosis.

"Agreed. I'll have to see if we still have the plans."

Despite hearing nothing, her head turned to see Kormac entering the room, and her heart fluttered. Even with his scowl, the freshly groomed warlord looked handsome in his dark leathers. Unlike some other cultures, the men in Srayth kept their hair long and even allowed their facial hair to grow. It proved more becoming than expected.

"Don't tell me Mother's roaming here instead of at home terrorizing her servants," Kormac stated as he stopped by their table.

"We chose to spend the night given the later hour but will be leaving mid-morning," Gurlok stated, grabbing some toast.

"She was out of line with her machinations at the feast," Kormac growled.

"She's your mother. She just wants what's best for you."

"What she thinks is best and what I want are two different things. She needs to stop trying to pair me with insipid maidens."

"And here I thought you didn't want someone strong-willed like your mother," his father teased, leading to Kormac making a face.

"Perish the thought."

"She's not so bad," Gurlok murmured. "She is fierce about caring for those she loves."

"Caring is fine. Forcing me to dine with two women who haven't a thought in their heads beyond marriage is not." Kormac glanced at Fionna. "The market will be opening shortly. When would you like to visit it?"

"I'm ready anytime. We can go after you eat."

As Kormac filled a plate, waving off the servant who would have done it for him, Gurlok leaned close to murmur, "Good luck, envoy."

"It's not me who will need it when your wife finds out we had breakfast together."

The man chuckled. "It shall be a loud ride home."

He left and Kormac took his place.

"Your father is nice," she stated.

"Maybe to you, but don't let that fool you. He can be tough, very tough."

"He'd have to be as warlord."

"And a father training a future warlord." Kormac took a bite before adding, "His lessons were rigid but always useful, especially now. Sometimes when I'm dealing with a situation, I hear his voice, remember his advice."

"It must be nice to have parents. I barely recall mine."

"How did they die?"

"Unpleasantly." A short but accurate answer.

It didn't take Kormac long to eat and soon they were heading out to the courtyard where two mounts awaited.

"Aren't we walking?" she asked as he headed for the larger of the pair, a big stallion who huffed and stamped his hooves.

As Kormac swung himself into the saddle, he exclaimed, "Why walk when we can ride?"

He had a point, as the city outside the citadel entailed a fairly easy walk downhill to enter, but uphill to return.

Fionna approached the mare who stood taller than the steeds she had ridden before. Livelier too. The horse danced in place as she waited for Fionna to mount.

"You have ridden?" Kormac asked probably noticing her hesitation.

"Yes, but usually they're shorter and easier to get on." She grabbed hold of the saddle and geared herself to look foolish trying to lift herself. Magic would have been the simplest solution but with an audience—stable hands and guards watching on the periphery—and knowing their dislike of witches, using her power would be unwise.

Before she could hoist herself up, hands gripped her around the waist and lifted. With a rounded mouth she glanced down at Kormac who'd snuck up to aid her.

"You didn't have to do that. I would have eventually managed to climb aboard."

"Better a helping hand to avoid the embarrassment of the envoy failing at what the Sraythian consider a basic skill," he murmured with a wink.

"Thank you."

He remounted his stallion, and they took off at a rapid clip. Unlike other places where horses and people jostled for use of the road, the center of the thoroughfare remained empty of pedestrians, intentionally so she realized.

"Your horses have right of way," she remarked, noticing how people watched and kept out of their path.

"It makes the most sense given their size can cause grave injury to pedestrians, but also to the horse itself should it trip. Broken legs have ended more good steeds than old age. We are also a people who love and respect horses and recognize their value. Outside of the city, they are necessary for travel. It is also our main export."

"Acca doesn't do much trade. The swamp that used to flood our land made it hard to produce much."

"So what do you trade?"

"Our services, for the most part. We also sell enchanted items."

"Enchanted how?" he asked suspiciously.

"Wards of protection mostly. A farmer might want a charm to keep foxes from his hens. A merchant will often buy a hex warning against thieves."

"The stories mention witches fighting in wars."

"That happened more often in the past. We're not mercenaries. At least we aren't, but those trained outside of Mystic Keep, or who leave, will barter their skills."

"Do you know how to fight?"

She hesitated before answering, knowing how Kormac and his people regarded women. "Yes."

"Have you killed?" was his next blunt question.

"Yes."

"It's strange to me to know you've taken a life."

"Only when necessary. When it's me against a threat, I will fight to live."

"I've killed many. Some in skirmishes. Others because they've transgressed. The latter is harder because while necessary to preserve law and order, I don't like the one-sided aspect to it."

"It's not easing being a leader." She'd had enough discussions with Amelia to understand the stress of making the wrong decision.

The road down the hill hosting the citadel became crowded as they entered a housing district, stone structures of two stories or more facing the road. People walked on raised pathways that kept them out of the cobbled road.

"Your city is very clean," she observed. She'd visited a few that reeked and were cesspools of waste. Some people literally dumped it on the streets.

"With good reason. Filth ferments disease."

"I wish more cities understood that." They often got requests for healer witches because of a preventable illness running rampant.

Past the homes, they encountered shops, some of them just opening, their owners sweeping the walkway while others hauled out bins of wares. They didn't stop until they reached a paddock, an oddity to see in the middle of a city. It held a few horses and the moment the warlord swung off his steed, a young boy was taking its reins and leading it into the fenced area.

Fionna turned sideways and slid off the horse, squeaking as her mare moved, almost tossing her to the ground. Kormac caught her before she could fall. A brief touch. She blamed her near mishap on her thundering pulse.

"Thank you again." Her words emerged slightly high-pitched and breathless.

"The market isn't far," was his brusque reply.

She could literally see it from the paddock, a large square festooned with kiosks, some sturdy structures you could enter, others draped fabric to form canopies and tents. As with every other market she'd visited, wares were laid out and as they passed, merchants shouted about their specials.

As they wandered, she heard the murmurs about the warlord, most of them positive.

"The warlord is looking fit."

"I hear he can fight a half dozen men without sweating."

Then there were the curious…

" Who's that woman?"

"I didn't realize the warlord had chosen a bride."

And finally, those who'd heard the rumors of her presence.

"It's the witch who has him under her spell."

"How has he not killed the intruder?"

She could tell Kormac heard by the way his jaw tightened.

"Don't be upset at their words. After all, they're just saying what you did a few days ago. Witches are bad, remember."

"The reputation of witches and reality diverge. It might be time to educate ourselves more on outside customs."

She halted. "Hold on, that sounds progressive. What happened to keeping to your ways?"

"Not all change is bad," he grudgingly admitted.

"Perhaps I have bespelled you, for I didn't think to ever hear you say that," she said with a smile.

"A man's pride shouldn't get in the way of the truth. And the truth is, you're not a crone trying to curse people. You're not a charlatan playing tricks for money. You're also not curdling milk."

"Why would we curdle milk?" she asked in surprise.

"The same reason you steal babies, blight crops, and cause droughts."

She blinked at him in surprise. "We don't do any of those things. Wait, did you believe that?"

He shrugged. "I didn't know what to believe. I contacted your queen out of desperation and because I had no other options. Had you proven to be any of those things, we would not be talking."

"You'd have sent me back."

"Or killed you." He mentioned it so nonchalantly.

"My queen wouldn't have been pleased had you done so. We might not be violent by nature, but we also don't allow ourselves to be abused."

"Would she have gone to war over one witch?" He glanced at her.

"No, but she would have ensured your country suffered as a result. Not all battles are fought face to face."

"Good to know. Now, where should we start the shopping?"

It didn't take her long to find the tools she wanted, many of which raised Kormac's brow, but he didn't question. Good, because the idea she had remained only partially formed. Watching Lomar's threads last night, seeing how they weaved together, had given her an idea based on a ritual she'd read about in one of the older preserved books.

"I've got everything I need. I hope," she added with a wry grin. "We can hit Lady Frieda's house on the way back."

"Actually, she's further out. We'll need our horses as she lives on a ranch on the outskirts of the city."

They rode, with him once more giving her a boost to get in the saddle.

Outside the city, the wide-open road had him sending his stallion into a gallop, and she followed. The wind streamed through her hair and the sun on her face warmed. She laughed as her horse overtook the warlord, only to gasp as he raced past with ease. By the time they pulled up to a large, sprawling home, she was flushed and smiling. A smile accompanied by flutters as he helped her off the mount. When her feet hit the ground, he didn't immediately release her, staring into her face as if puzzled.

Her pulse raced. Her heart thumped harder. While inexperienced, she knew what a man about to kiss looked like.

Only he didn't because someone shouted, "Can I help you?"

Fionna pulled away from the warlord to face the old woman standing outside the door to the house. While her features might have been creased with age and her hair snowy white, the old lady held herself straight.

Kormac strode in her direction. "Morning, Lady Frieda. It's been a while since we've spoken. I am?—"

"I know who you are, Warlord. But it is your companion that interests me. She is the spitting image of someone I used to know." The old lady strode closer, her head cocked as she stared at Fionna. "Who are you, girl?"

"Fionna." Then because she didn't like to hide, "I am an envoy from Acca."

"So that's where she went," murmured the woman.

"Where who went?" Kormac asked.

"My daughter. I'd always wondered what happened after she left. It would seem she had a child." Lady Frieda smiled at Fionna. "Welcome, granddaughter."