The Blacksmith Queen (The Scarred Earth Saga, #1) - G.A Aiken Page 0,59
the work.”
The Witch Queen nodded. “They do. But she swears she’s a seer.”
“If you had no faith in her, then why did you give my sister’s name to the royal counsel?”
“I didn’t. Because I didn’t care what Delora saw, didn’t see, or thought she saw.”
“So Delora informed the counsel?”
“No. She informed the Dowager Queen before the Old King even died.”
“I thought the Old King had no wife. Only consorts.”
“That’s true. But there is one of his consorts who is brave enough to claim the Dowager Queen title, and that is Maila of the North.”
“Maila?” the cousin asked, moving around the War Monk.
“Yes. Maila. The mother of Prince Marius.”
* * *
Laila entered the healing chamber and started toward the bed. One of the demon wolves raised its head and snarled but she pointed a finger at him and warned, “Uh-uh.”
The beast rested his massive head on his paws and Laila moved to her brother’s side. She brushed her hand across his forehead and his eyes opened.
“Hungry?” she asked. But before he could answer, a high-pitched scream rang out through the chambers and tunnels.
Laila pulled her sword and moved to the foot of the bed, taking a battle stance. The demon wolves, now on their feet, all growling, stood on either side of her.
Witches poured out of the other chambers, rushing around, panicked. Another scream and, a few seconds later, Gemma stormed by, her fingers gripped tight in the hair of the witch Delora. The War Monk yanked the witch through the passageway, heading toward the throne room.
“Oh, shit.” Laila pointed at her brother, stopping him just as he was about to run after Gemma. “Stay here with Keeley!”
She followed Gemma instead, nearly colliding with Keran in the passageway.
“What’s going on?”
“As my mother would say,” the fighter snarled, “we’ve found rats in the pantry.”
Laila didn’t know what that meant but she went with Keran to the throne room.
As soon as Gemma passed through the entrance, she threw Delora to the floor. This was the War Monk Laila had seen when the farm was attacked. A warrior who felt her family was threatened and acted accordingly.
“What did my sister promise you, whore?” Gemma bellowed at Delora, her angry voice ringing out against the cave walls.
“Nothing!”
“Don’t lie to me!”
The witch, on her knees, held her arms out to the rest of her order. “My sisters . . . my queen, help me. Don’t let this War Mo—”
“Tsst!” the Witch Queen hissed, her gaze never lifting from the scroll she had before her, her quill scratch-scratching urgently against the parchment.
Delora’s watery eyes narrowed in anger. “What are you doing?”
“I am”—scratch, scratch—“busy calculating”—scratch, scratch—“the odds of”—scratch, scratch—“your being a treacherous cow.”
The queen finished, leaning back and announcing, “Look at that. The odds are huge in favor of your being treacherous.”
Delora stood. “You’d believe—”
“Numbers? Over you? Always. Numbers never lie.”
“The calculations could be wrong.”
Coming out of her seat, the queen roared, “My calculations?”
But several of the younger witches jumped in front of her. One of them begged, “Please! My queen.”
The Witch Queen sat back into her throne. “Be glad your sisters have such coolheaded natures.”
Gemma leaned in behind Delora and growled, “Too bad I don’t.”
“You don’t frighten me, War Monk,” Delora said to the pacing Gemma.
“Because you think you have my baby sister’s loyalty?” Gemma slipped her arm around Delora’s neck, letting it hang there casually like they were old friends. “The loyalty of a woman who stabbed her own sister? Does that seem . . . wise to you?”
“Basic logic.” The queen sighed. “Like math, that is not one of her best subjects.”
“Why is she even here?” Laila finally had to ask. “Our chieftain has always told us we go to the Witches of Amhuinn for knowledge. But she’s stupid.”
“I am right here!” Delora barked. “A little respect!”
Gemma tightened her arm around Delora’s throat and said softly, “Shut. Up.”
“She’s a legacy.” The queen pointed at Delora. “Her mother . . . one of the best witches I ever knew. Math, science, logic, history. They all fell at her feet, determined to be her possession. She was brilliant enough to be—”
“Witch Queen,” Delora snapped.
“True.” The sitting Witch Queen smirked. “Sadly, she had one great weakness. She insisted on mating with stupid men. Not the Warlocks of Godomor. Not the Monks of Spikenhammer library. Not even the War Monks . . . no offense.”
“A little offense taken,” Gemma admitted.
“I mean, at least you lot have enough knowledge to raise the dead. That’s impressive. Disgusting but impressive. But Delora’s