tossed “No” over her shoulder as she continued on through the library.
Keeley’s smile faded. “That was just rude,” she muttered to Caid.
“I know, but these books are ancient and powerful. The witches are wise not to let just anyone read them.”
“I’m not just anyone. I’m Keeley Smythe, best blacksmith in the Hill Lands.”
“I . . . am not sure that will impress them.”
“Typical. No one thinks they need a blacksmith . . . until they do. Then we are the most important thing anyone can think of.”
He loved how indignant she was. Because Caid had never known anyone who loved their job as much as Keeley. As if she had no doubt whatsoever that she was doing exactly what she should be doing, and what she was doing was good and right. He didn’t know many humans who lived that confidently in their own skin.
Caid had to admit . . . the longer he knew Keeley, the more he liked her. But that wasn’t unusual. He liked lots of people.
Oh. Wait. No, he didn’t.
* * *
“A War Monk?” The Witch Queen blinked at Gemma, her eyes appearing larger because of the thick spectacles she wore. “Are we letting in War Monks now?”
“She’s the sister of Beatrix of the Farm, my queen.”
“Well . . . all right. But no killing anyone so you can raise them later.”
“Not all War Monks do that,” Gemma reminded the witch.
“Do you?”
Gemma took in a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Then my point is made.”
She moved away from Gemma and over to Beatrix. Held out her hand. “Beatrix of the Farm. I am the Witch Queen.”
Beatrix took the witch’s hand but she held it so loosely—as if she was afraid to touch the other woman—that Gemma had to fight her need to show her sister how one clasps hands in an appropriate greeting.
“Lady,” Beatrix began, “I am happy to—”
“Yes, yes,” the Witch Queen interrupted. “You’re glad to be here and can’t wait to discuss the future of the country, blah blah blah. Can we just bypass all that? We have work to do and I really don’t like to waste time on unnecessary chit-chat.”
The queen returned to her throne, carved directly out of the stone wall, and sat down. She snapped her fingers at one of her assistants and the young witch rushed to her side, holding out a scroll for her mistress to read.
“Call Delora,” the queen told another. “Tell her we’re waiting for her.” She began to read the scroll but still spoke to their travel party. “Delora is our . . . seer,” she sneered, her hands lifted, fingers wiggling. “We’ve never had one before, but times change, or so I’ve been told. And we do like keeping up with modern things.”
The assistant returned to the chamber. “She was sleeping,” she announced with obvious disgust.
“It must be nice to have all the time in the world,” the queen scoffed. “Amazing how busy the rest of us seem to be.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Delora said, coming in from behind the throne through another chamber. She had one hand pressed against her lower back and used the other to rub her eyes. “Didn’t mean to be late.”
Still focused on the scrolls that her assistant put in front of her, the queen pointed at Beatrix. “She’s here to be confirmed as queen.”
“Of course.”
Delora took a few more steps but then stopped, attempted to stretch her spine with both hands on her back.
“Is something wrong?” Keeley asked.
“My back has been screaming the last few weeks. Nothing the healers do is helping.”
“Would you like me to try?”
Gemma winced at her sister’s offer. She knew it was earnestly made, but she saw the witches in the room suddenly focus on her. If their healers hadn’t been able to do anything—they were most likely thinking—how could she?
But it was Beatrix who appeared the most disturbed.
“Maybe Gemma should help instead,” Beatrix quickly offered. “I’m sure War Monks are better equipped to help with that sort of thing.”
“When she gets hit with an arrow or axe,” Gemma replied, “let me know.”
“Aren’t you the blacksmith sister?” the Witch Queen asked.
“Yes!” Keeley said with that oblivious smile of hers. “But I do this sort of thing for horses.”
“Well, if you do it for horses . . .” the queen mocked.
Keeley went to Delora and placed her hands on her back. She moved her fingers down the seer’s spine, her gaze focused across the chamber.
“Keeley—” Beatrix began.
“Just give me a few more secondssss . . .” Keeley stopped at a