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Chapter 10: A Wake of Crones
Carina took in a slow, quiet breath as she finished her abridged account of the night’s events, focusing on her visit to the Bridgewater Lane Hospital. The Crown Prince listened without interruption. His unwavering hazel-blue eyes focused on her face with a bitter expression, as if in some way he had grown used to accepting bad news.
Prime Minister Atwood, who had arrived at the beginning of her account, began taking notes on a piece of paper as she named the street with the infected well. When he wasn’t scribbling down a name or detail, he would study her muddy boots, dusty jacket, and the blood now dried to the left leg of her trousers.
Nicholas spread his hands across the small empty space on his desk and finally turned to the Prime Minister. “We need to call an emergency meeting.”
“Yes, the Royal Office of Medicine should be brought in and informed,” Attwood replied quietly as he looked over his notes. “I would also suggest having Lord Commander Quentin set up a quarantine around the hospital and this—neighborhood.”
“The sooner done, the better.” The Crown Prince rubbed his fingers along the bridge of his nose with a grimace. “Lady Kirsi, you mentioned volunteering a squadron of knights to help search for others infected in the morning.”
“Yes,” Carina replied as she clutched her left wrist tightly. ‘I’ll also need to correct Kirsi’s orders when I get back.’
“Then the question is—what do we do with these—plague victims?” Attwood murmured with a glimmer of discomfort.
Nicholas sighed heavily and rubbed his jaw before lowering his hand back to the desk. Once more, his gaze shifted between the Duchess and his Prime Minister. “Lady Kirsi, to the best of your knowledge—what are the odds of survival for those already infected?”
Carina clenched her jaw at the memory of Samantha’s putrefied gut. “I admit—at first glance, the odds of survival appear minimal, but we have just discovered this disease. If we can at least slow the internal spread and the breakdown of organs—”
“Your Grace,” Attwood interrupted gently. “I understand your intent and reluctance. Indeed, I must applaud all the effort you have gone through to inform us of this crisis. Few nobles would willing enter a hospital in the slums, let alone one potentially crawling with the plague.”
“That—”
“However,” the Prime Minister continued firmly. “We must remember the pain and agony these unfortunate people are suffering through. Prolonging that suffering just to ease our own guilt is unnecessarily cruel. Not to mention the additional risk of spread to those willing enough to help care for these victims. That’s a risk none of us can take. If even a third of the capital’s population got infected, not only would we run out of hospital beds, we’d also be forced to dig mass graves as burning pits while praying that the soil and air don’t become contaminated and spread this sickness.”
“If it’s the number of hospital beds you’re worried about,” Carina replied determinedly. “I can provide tents and build more temporary hospitals. And I’m sure that with the brightest medical minds Lafeara has to offer, we will find some way to minimize the pain and reduce the internal damage caused by this disease.”
“I am certain the physicians of the Royal Medical Office will put forward their best effort.” Attwood offered her a faint smile of sympathy. “But our priority must be to contain and stop the spread before it reaches the capital. If we can not save them, then the least we can do is offer a painless and peaceful end.”
The Duchess blinked as she studied the Prime Minister’s composed expression. While a part of her could not ignore the reality of his words, she couldn’t shake free from the horror of sentencing people to death simply because they were sick.
‘It won’t just be men and women that have unwittingly exposed themselves. What about the children?’ Carina’s chest tightened painfully at the thought of the woman at the hospital, forced to watch her child die with her. ‘All this because of a witch plague.’
Anger flared awake inside the Duchess’s chest, pushing aside panic that had been gnawing away at the edges of her thoughts. Instinctively, Carina reached towards the one person she could trust to offer her guidance and comfort.
“What do I do, Viktor? How can I stop this? How do I save the most lives without butchering the innocent?”
“Why must you take this upon yourself, Carina? You are neither responsible nor obligated. You are a mortal, not a god. Just because you are a witch does not mean they should hold you accountable for the actions of other witches.”
“But I can’t just turn a blind eye.”
“Know your strengths, Carina. Apply them where they are best suited. You are a queen, a warrior, not a healer. If you must involve yourself, hunt down those responsible and execute them. A Witch Plague cannot survive without the magic of the witch who brought it into this world.”
“Lady Kirsi?”
Carina blinked and looked up to where the Crown Prince was studying her worriedly. “Oh. Apologies, your Majesty. I’m afraid that I am a bit worn out.”
“Of course,” Nicholas smiled sympathetically. “Then let’s quickly determine our course of action for tonight and rest until tomorrow morning.”
“Yes,” Attwood replied quickly. “Then going forward, we will need a good reason to quarantine potentially half the slum’s residents. Something less contentious and frightening than a plague—if we want to avoid a public panic.”
“Would it not be best that people be aware?” Carina countered. “Especially given that it was a public water source that was contaminated.”
“We have no reason to believe this was done maliciously,” Nicholas replied thoughtfully. “A well in the slums becoming spoiled by trash, rodents, or other filth is hardly unusual.”
The Duchess stiffened as the Crown Prince’s hazel-blue eyes narrowed in on her.
“Duchess, do you have any reason to suspect this was done intentionally? Are we dealing with a Witch Plague?”
‘Should I tell him?’
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Kirsi’s enraged snarl echoed through her ears loudly. “And give the church more power over the fearful believers?”
‘Right. And to think that I began this enterprise to dispel such misguided beliefs.’
Carina sighed and met the Crown Prince’s gaze. “At this time, I can neither affirm nor deny that possibility.”
Nicholas blinked and stared at her as if he had expected a different answer. The Prime Minister looked up from his notes slowly, somewhat paler than he had been a moment ago.
“All the more reason to keep this information contained,” Attwood said stiffly. “But as to a justifiable excuse?”
“I—might have a suggestion.” Carina ignored the uncomfortable pressure of Kirsi railing against her mind as she glanced between them. “During my time at the hospital, I was made aware of several attacks by a group of local thugs. Mostly moderate damage to the exterior of the building, but harassment nonetheless. They also attacked me when I went to investigate the contaminated well.”
‘I won’t mention the witch hunters. That will only raise more questions.’
“I believe these thugs will continue to be a public nuisance and threat to both the hospital and those displaced by the plague if left unchecked.”
“Ahh yes, they call themselves Foxes, do they not?” Nicholas mused with a frown. “Lord Commander Quentin has always turned a blind eye to their nonsense, but given the appearance of the plague—and the Pope’s expected visit on Holy Saint’s Day—it would be reasonable to clear them out now. For the sake of public peace and safety.”
“Agreed,” Attwood chimed as he carried his notes over to the Crown Prince. “Might I also suggest your Majesty use this opportunity to clean the lower district of all its vices? The whore houses, in particular, are a breeding ground of sickness and lustful violence.”
“That should work. The Pope’s visit will more than justify our efforts. The presence of the Bastiallano’s knights after two nobles were attacked and a hospital vandalized should also pass without too many questions.”
The Duchess grimaced faintly but quickly shook off the unsettling feeling of guilt. ‘If the Foxes have allied themselves with witch hunters and the Church, then they have willingly made themselves my enemy.’
Perhaps things would have been different if Alex were still alive.
“Right, I think we have enough to start with in the morning,” Nicholas declared as he stood, shifting his gaze from Carina to the Knight Captain who stood behind her. “Captain Beaumont, since you were about to switch out your shift for the night, would you mind escorting Lady Kirsi back to the safety of her Duchy?”
The Duchess blinked and turned towards the Knight Captain, who looked equally surprised. “That—really won’t be necessary, your Majesty,” she blurted out.
“Nonsense. I can’t overlook the fact that you arrived at the Royal Palace without a proper escort or protection in the dead of night.” The Crown Prince waved his hand dismissively as if the matter were now closed.
“But it is a long ride to Bastiallano—and the Captain must be tired—”
“As are you, Lady Kirsi. And I’m sure Captain Beaumont would be more than happy to offer you a safe escort home.”
Beaumont raised a cynical brow but turned to bow his head towards the Duchess. “Your Grace, if you would permit me.”
Carina pressed her lips together, then sighed and surrendered with a faint shrug. “Very well. But please allow the Captain a few more hours of sleep in the morning, your Majesty.”
“How thoughtful of you, Lady Kirsi,” Nicholas replied with a bemused smile. “Unfortunately, I think we will all find it difficult to sleep tonight, regardless.”
‘He has a point.’
“Then, I will take my leave now so that the Captain may return as soon as possible.”
“No, don’t rush—” Nicholas caught himself and coughed awkwardly. “I mean, it would be foolish to ride recklessly in the dark.”
Carina frowned at his tone. Attwood cleared his throat loudly and removed the cloak he was wearing.
“Here, your Grace. If you don’t mind borrowing an old man’s garments. There are far too many important events to be settled for you to fall sick from the cold.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister.” The Duchess accepted his cloak with a faint smile. Somehow, she doubted she would have any more luck refusing the kind man’s gesture. “Oh, what about the Royal Hunt, your Majesty?”
The Crown Prince raised an eyebrow as his gaze lifted from the list Attwood had placed in front of him. “What about it?”
“Would it not be best to postpone or cancel the event in light of—”
Nicholas cut her off with another dismissive wave. “We are trying to prevent a public panic, Lady Kirsi. The best way to assure the minds of the people is to behave as we normally would.”
Carina nodded slowly, not entirely convinced.
“Unless you feel unable to carry out your task of ensuring the royal family’s protection,” Nicholas added with an inquiring brow.
‘If I back out now without an obvious reason, that will only add more fuel to the gossip that I cannot handle the responsibility of my post.’
Carina shook her head. “No, I will manage. Your Majesty will have the full force of Bastiallano as your protection if necessary.”
“I feel safer already. Good night, Lady Kirsi.”
Accepting his dismissal, Carina chose a less than formal bow over a curtsey, then followed Captain Beaumont into the hallway.
❆❆❆❆❆
Vanya’s heart was still pounding as she crashed through the hotel room door. The locked bolt snapped like a sewing pin and flew across the small room where it pinged against the wall.
In the nearby bed, Gus bolted upright. The new shirt and trousers Vanya had picked up for him earlier were now rumpled from sleep. His freshly washed hair and skin glowed as he rubbed the heavy sleep from his ebony eyes. “Vanya, you’re back,” he drawled out slowly, still under the effects of the sleeping draft Vanya had prepared for him at dinner. “Wha-what’s going on?”
“Get up!” He stiffened beneath her tone. Vanya pressed her lips together as she marched towards the travel pack at the foot of her bed, slung it around her shoulders, and turned to face him impatiently. “Master Gus, if you want to live, we have to go. Now!”
He moved swiftly then, motivated by the underlying fury and fear that coated her words. Vanya left him to finish getting dressed and moved down the hall, where she used force once more to enter Tarlay’s room.
The sight of her mentor’s pack laying neatly on the made bed tore a choked cry through Vanya’s clenched teeth. The sound of raining tiles and the image of Tarlay’s head, purple braids severed close to her ears, hitting the ground with a faint, wet crack echoed against the distorted pounding of her own heart.
‘Get it together. Head up, keep moving.’
A cursory search of the room showed nothing else out of place that needed to be packed. The weighted bracelets on Vanya’s wrists clanged together softly as she lifted Tarlay’s belongings and added them to her back. ‘Am I missing anything? Gus still has the Saint’s dagger. The only other item of importance was the crystal Tarlay used to record her fight with the Scarlet Witch.’ Vanya let out a faint growl as her fingers tightened around the straps of both sacks. ‘I wasn’t able to recover that either. Fuck!’
The repercussions that would be waiting upon her return to the Witch Hunter Order piled up inside Vanya’s chest as she fought to remain calm. She brushed the damp trail of grief from her cheek and hurried back to the hallway—only to recoil at the sight of two frail old women loitering outside of Gus’s closed door.
‘Witches! But thankfully not Kirsi!’
Vanya pressed her hand against the doorframe as she listened to the vibrations of footsteps close by. Gus had his boots on. He was pacing beside the bed, waiting for her.
‘I need to get him out of there. I can’t go back to Zarus empty-handed.’
The two witches in the hallway smelled foul. The stench was so putrid Vanya struggled to pinpoint their elemental affinity. ‘Are they sick? Why do they smell like day-old corpses?’ She quickly shoved such thoughts aside as the first witch moved closer towards Gus’s door and sniffed the air inquisitively.
Vanya slid the packs from her back to the floor soundlessly, then reached towards the weighted bracelets on her wrists.
“Restraint is not about controlling your strength. It’s refusing to throw the punch at all.” Ripper’s cautionary reminder filtered through Vanya’s mind even as she visualized the words that would release her binds. “Know when to run and when to lay it all on the line to survive.”
“ᛒᚱᛠᚳ.”
A weightlessness fell over Vanya’s body as the broken chunks of enchanted iron clattered to the floor. The witches in the hallway spun towards the sound, but Vanya was already moving. Her curled fist shot forward and twisted the organs inside the first spinster’s stomach on impact before it sent the hag reeling towards the staircase, where she tumbled down and fell out of sight.
The air hissed with the second witch’s snarl of vengeance. The old crone flung a burst of howling wind in Vanya’s direction.
The novice witch hunter’s lips curled into a sneer as she turned to the side, shielding her eyes with the plated leather armor on her left arm. The deafening wind blocked her sense of movement, but Vanya remained calm. She ignored the sting of cuts along her cheeks and neckline and took a purposeful step forward.
The despicable crone appeared surprised that Vanya could move at all. The wind shifted direction as the air witch sniffed the air, then spat a disgusting wad of phlegm onto the ground. “Half-earth bitch!”
“A little more than half,” Vanya hissed and lunged forward.
The crone danced away, relying on the air to help her avoid the witch hunter’s flying fists and kicks. The structural damage left in their wake resulted in a few emboldened guests leaving their rooms to complain, only to slam their doors or flee towards the hotel stairs.
One particularly slow old man got in the way and quickly found his throat slit by a pair of long, sharp fingernails.
Vanya used the witch’s temporary distraction to close the distance between them. The crone blinked in surprise as the witch hunter’s hand clasped the back of her skull. Before she could counter-attack, Vanya buried the old hag’s face into the floorboards, where it splattered against the dented wood with a satisfying crunch.
Vanya sucked in a slow breath as the hotel, and panicked tenants came back into focus. She backed away from the unmoving witch and shook the tangled gray hair, blood, and brain splatter from her gloved hand. The bedroom door beside her opened cautiously as Gus glanced out, the dagger Tarlay had given him, still in its sheath on his belt.
“Is-is it safe?”
She stared at him, realization hitting like a bottle of alcohol poured over an open wound. ‘Why, Tarlay? Why did you give it to him? Even if you couldn’t harness the full power of a Saint’s weapon, that dagger could have saved you.’
“Vanya?”
She shook her head and grabbed Gus’s arm, pulling him after her as she retrieved the two packs left in the next room.
The vibrations of footsteps on the roof above them and coming up the stairs below raised the hairs on Vanya’s arms. She quickly spun towards the nearest exterior wall and dropped Gus’s arm as she charged forward and smashed her glowing violet fist through the barrier, leaving a sizeable hole in the wood and plaster wall.
“We have to jump,” Vanya explained as she reached back for Gus’s hand.
His ebony irises had all but disappeared behind enlarged pupils. The tightness of his breathing, sweat upon his brow, and unfocused gaze made her concerned and irritated at the same time.
‘I don’t have time to baby him.’
Vanya ducked down and threw the stiff man over her shoulder, ignoring his surprised sputter as she kicked the hole wider and then leapt through. Even with Gus’s added weight and the two packs on her back, Vanya barely disturbed the ground as she landed soundlessly, then sprinted towards the nearest dark alley. She knew she was lost when they hit a dead-end but relentlessly smashed her way through it.
‘Stop leaving a trail for them to follow,’ her common sense chimed in scornfully.
“Can I—please get down?” Gus panted painfully while his legs squirmed against her hold.
“Not yet. Actually, you better close your eyes.”
“Why-y-y!” Gus almost screamed as Vanya sailed up towards the lowest building roof then quickly bounded her way to the highest structure.
‘I’d forgotten what it feels like to bend the rules of gravity.’
The night winds swirled around her, carrying with it traces of seeking magic. Vanya knew the witches would be on her soon enough, but a quick glance at the city terrain below helped point her in the right direction. She jumped back down into the street, ignoring Gus’s muffled protest as she landed and sprinted towards the border of the Capital.
❆❆❆❆❆
Gus clenched his throbbing abdomen as he leaned against the packs Vanya had dropped on the ground beside him. He watched the novice witch hunter kneel through the swaying stalks of wheat, with one repeating question burning at the back of his mind. ‘Where is Tarlay?’
One look at Vanya was all it took for him to keep quiet.
The witch hunter grabbed clumps of damp earth from the ground and smothered them against the cuts on her face and neck before turning towards him. “I need to borrow your dagger.”
Gus blinked, then looked down at the dagger strapped to his waist. ‘I forgot all about it.’ He reached down, fumbling with the leather slip that kept the blade sheathed, and then handed it over to her.
“Thank you,” Vanya grunted as she passed the sheath back, then rose to stalk quietly through the dense field, leaving him behind.
The night closed in around him in the quiet whispers of crickets, field mice, one particularly obnoxious toad, and the distant wings of a night predator. Gus sank onto his ass and rubbed his numb legs slowly, half hoping the repetitive movements would stop the tremors in his hands.
He had grown up on stories of witches. Cannibal Witches in particular that stole children from their beds and lured men into the forest, never to return. It had been hard to reconcile the images of the stories told by the house slaves around a dying fire with that of actual witches. The first witch that Gus had ever encountered had been Lady Maura herself.
Ivy had let that secret slip during the weeks that followed Lincoln’s attack. She had sworn Gus to secrecy, but he had never looked at the youngest Miss in the same way since then. It explained so much of Maura’s behavior as a child. The old head maid, Joy, used to tell stories whenever one of the new staff members spoke of the half-blood favorably.
“You watch yourself when you’re around her. Maura is a manipulative child. She hid a snake in Master Lincoln’s bed and even pushed poor Lady Sophya down the stairs when they were younger. Broke the poor girl’s arm she did and wasn’t in the least bit sorry about it.”
Gus had always felt that such actions, however extreme, were likely well deserved. Maura’s mother openly neglected her while her siblings abused the half-blood mercilessly. But after learning Maura’s secret from Ivy, Gus had begun to wonder.
‘What would make an entire household turn upon a single small child, if not her own evil nature?’
He had continued to participate in Maura’s secret schemes, if only to monitor her behavior and ensure Ivy’s safety. He even accepted the lashings of a whip to keep the half-blood’s secret, despite being left behind when she and Ivy finally fled to safety.
It was the feverish dream that had shaken him awake. The vision of Ivy’s death at Maura’s hand had come like a cry of warning from the Saint’s themselves.
As Maura continued to enjoy her new freedom and lavish lifestyle in the palace, it became clear she had forgotten about those who had suffered to protect her. Ivy remained a slave and maid, while Gus endured Percy’s cold and impatient nature.
Gus jumped as Vanya appeared beside him once more. The witch hunter held a finger to her lips and shook her head sharply as the crickets, toads, and other noises suddenly died out around them.
A strong breeze blew in, carrying the same foul, nauseating odor that had assaulted Gus back at the hotel. He held his breath and glanced at the dagger that Vanya offered him, the blade now covered in a fine dust of soil and chaff.
“Where are they? I’m starving!” a grizzly voice pined.
“Stop your drooling and stay on guard. You saw what happened to Sister Sarah. It’s clear the little witch hunter is stronger than she looks.”
“Both of you be silent,” hissed a shrill, if not younger, voice. “They’ve gone to ground again. I’m certain they went in this direction.”
Gus tightened his grip on the dagger’s hilt as the voices grew louder. The wind pressed down against the field, almost flattening it. He dropped to the ground beside Vanya, holding his breath, as he glimpsed three old women dressed in black robes in the center of the clearing ahead of them.
“Where are they? Why have they stopped?”
“Perhaps she’s run out of energy. She is only a half-witch.”
“No. The brat chose this place to hide because it still reeks of fire witches. She’s no Demon Eyes, but she’s tricky.”
“Ha! I’ve got a bag of tricks for her.”
“The sooner we find her, the sooner we can rip her to shreds. Then we can take our time with the morsel of flesh she brought with her.”
The maniacal cackles of delight carried over the wildly swaying wheat as the trio split apart to search.
“I smell sweat, I smell fear, I smell man!” chanted the witch as she extended a pale, bony hand in their direction.
“So much for covering their tracks! Mortals always sweat like a pig.”
Gus felt his dinner gurgle at the back of his throat. Only Vanya’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from bolting out into the night like a scared rabbit. The witches closed in, their tangled white hair floating eerily against the dark visage of their hoods.
“Come out. Come out.”
“There’s nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.”
“We can smell you, mortal!”
The hairs on the back of Gus’s neck stood on end as the dagger in his hand suddenly vibrated.
Around the three witches in the field, runes flared awake, creating a circle of violet magic that surrounded the startled Cannibal Witches.
“Fly Sisters! It’s a tr—”
Gus stared, unblinking, as all three witches fell to the ground with a thud, flattened beneath an invisible and powerful force. Vanya’s grip on his shoulder relaxed, and Gus was suddenly keenly aware that he had stopped breathing. He hastily sucked down a gulp of air and watched numbly as Vanya rose to her feet. The witch hunter moved steadily towards the painful groans that leaked from the witch’s sputtering lips.
“So, these are the Cannibal Witches of Lafeara,” Vanya taunted as she stalked towards them. The jewels on the witch hunter’s fists glowed faintly with the same magic that lit up the circle of runes on the ground. “Somehow, you’re less frightening than the stories I’ve heard.”
“Half-earth bitch!”
“Such shabby runes would not have stopped us in our prime.”
Gus stood up but refused to budge even an inch as he watched Vanya step over the magic circle.
“You may kill us, half-witch, but you cannot stop the return of the Calamity Q—”
“You’re right,” Vana growled after burying her left boot inside the witch’s skull. The remaining hags howled and cursed as the witch hunter moved towards them, then paused to gesture in Gus’s direction. “I can’t kill Kirsi. But that doesn’t mean the Saints haven’t blessed us with the means to stop her all the same.”