The Blacksmith Queen

by Aiken G. A.

“I can make a sword and I know the Old Songs.”

  “Ooooh,” Keeley mocked, wiggling her fingers. “You know the Old Songs. I’m so impressed.”

  Beatrix, still sitting sidesaddle on her horse, snapped her fingers in the direction of her sisters. The sound startled both women into silence but their expressions told Caid much. While Keeley looked moderately impressed, Gemma appeared ready to snatch her younger sister off her horse by her hair and beat her soundly.

  “Beatrix of the Farm is just fine,” Beatrix announced.

  The witch nodded and quickly scanned the scroll she had in her hands. Then she dipped her quill into the pot attached to the piece of wood and checked something off on it.

  “Now, please, leave your horses here.” She motioned to a young man nearby. “He’ll take your horses to the stables inside our fortress and—”

  When the man tried to take the reins of the gray mare, the horse reared and backed up.

  “Sorry,” Keeley apologized. “She stays with me.”

  “Fine,” the witch replied crisply before adding, “Take the others.” She looked everyone over. “You may keep your weapons. Caid of the Scarred Earth Clan, feel free to be yourself.”

  For some unknown reason, that offer had Keeley turning to him with a giant, happy smile on her face and her eyes wide. Kind of like a happily startled farm dog. She looked so ridiculous, he had no option but to chuckle and tell the witch, “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Excellent. Right this way,” she said, before turning on her heel and moving off.

  “You don’t want to be yourself?” Keeley whispered to him.

  Caid placed his hand against her back and gently pushed her ahead, ignoring her giggles. As he started to follow, his sister grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Leaning down, she asked, “What is going on with you two?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  “Are you sure? Because you’re doing that thing again. With your face.”

  “What thing?”

  “Some might call it a smile. I, however, just wonder if you’re having some kind of fit.”

  Caid yanked his arm away from Laila. “Can we just get this bloody thing over with?”

  The witch led them out of the main hall and into another large part of the fortress. The library. The three sisters stopped and stared in wonder at all the books. This was only one of the libraries that the fortress boasted. There were at least five more, with three new ones currently being built deeper into the mountain.

  “All these books,” Keeley breathed out. “I could spend years here.”

  “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Beatrix asked. “What knowledge these witches hold?”

  “Think they’ll let us spend some time in here before we go?” Keeley asked.

  The young witch 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 spot and dug in three of her fingers. Then she went up to the witch’s neck, walked her fingers down her spine until she stopped at a spot between shoulder and neck. She pushed her fingers in again, waited a moment, stepped back.

  “How do you feel now?” she asked.

  “That’s it?” Delora asked. “That’s all you’re do . . .” She moved her head, then her shoulders, then her ass. She took a few steps. Smiled. “By the gods, I feel fabulous!” She faced Keeley. “Thank you!”

  “Welcome.” Keeley shrugged at Beatrix.
“See? It didn’t take long at all.”

  Keeley went back to Caid’s side and Delora continued to walk around in circles and move her shoulders.

  Five, four, three, two—

  “Can we just finish this?” Beatrix snapped, fed up that her future as a queen should be held up for even a moment because of someone else’s discomfort.

  “Delora,” the Witch Queen barked, “stop shaking your ass and just do this thing already.”

  “Calm down. All of you. So emotional.”

  Delora stood in front of Beatrix. “Your hands, dear.”

  Beatrix placed her hands in Delora’s. Gemma was expecting some moaning and swaying as she’d seen other seers do. But Delora’s technique was much more . . . straightforward. And blunt.

  She scrutinized Beatrix’s face for a very long moment. When she finally pulled away, she casually announced, “Yes, Beatrix. You will be queen.”

  Gemma watched as a small smile formed at the corner of Beatrix’s mouth, and that’s when Gemma felt a real sense of panic. A real sense that all she’d hoped for was about to—

  “Of course,” Delora added, “so will she.” And she pointed at Keeley.

  As one, they all looked back at Keeley. Even the witches looked away from their precious scrolls to focus on Gemma’s elder sister. When the silence went on and on, Keeley—who’d been staring at the floor, probably sad at the prospect of losing her younger sister to a life of royal privilege—lifted her head and saw everyone gawking at her. When that went on for more than a second or two, she quickly looked behind her, didn’t see anyone, looked at them all again, then behind her once more. And this look felt more than just confused but desperate. Like she was praying there was someone—anyone—behind her.

  Keeley pointed at herself. “You’re not speaking to me.”

  “Of course I am.”

  The Witch Queen pushed away the scroll in front of her. “The blacksmith? Are you sure?”

  Delora scowled. “Are you questioning me?”

  “Always.”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  “But I don’t want to be queen,” Keeley argued. “I want to go back to my shop. I have orders to fill!”

  The Witch Queen waved that objection away and added, “Well, that won’t be happening anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard. Your shop has been destroyed by the Devourer and all the men who worked there have been killed.”

  Her hands over her mouth, eyes wide in horror, Keeley gawked at the queen.

  “They’re all dead?” Gemma asked.

  “I believe the younger boys you had working there as apprentices were able to escape. But that’s because the men protected them; they died in the process. The Devourer burned down the entire town, but based on the tally I received of deaths, most of the residents were able to escape.”

  Because of her size, it was often easy to forget how fast Keeley could be. Especially when she was angry. And she was angry now.

  That’s why, when Keeley was suddenly running toward the Witch Queen, her hammer out, Gemma didn’t even think about stopping her sister. It didn’t even occur to her. It might have occurred to Keran, but she was half-asleep, leaning against a wall. Oblivious as always.

  But just as Keeley got close to the throne, Caid swooped in behind her and wrapped his arms around her, picking her up off the ground. He held her and took her back across the chamber.

  “You bitch!” Keeley hissed at the Witch Queen. “You talk of people’s deaths and the destruction of their lives as if it’s nothing!”

  The Witch Queen stood. “I have done no such thing! I was simply being direct. Explaining how you can’t go back to your old life, no matter how much you may want to.”

  Keeley pulled herself out of Caid’s arms but she didn’t advance on the queen again.

  “I don’t care if my old life is gone. I will not be queen.”

  “Woman, I have no idea if you’re supposed to be queen or not. Delora is our seer. So your decision to be queen may not be your own. It may be the will of the gods.”

  “Don’t give me that will of the gods bullshit!”

  Laila quickly stepped in front of the Witch Queen. “My lady, is there somewhere our party can talk? In private.”

  She gestured to one of her assistants. “Take them to my privy chambers.”

  One of the witches motioned to Laila and scurried off to the back. Laila motioned to the rest of them. Gemma had to wake up Keran and push her behind everyone else. She was about to follow until she saw that Beatrix was still standing in front of the queen but her focus was on Delora.

  “Beatrix?” Gemma called out. “Are you coming?”

  “Of course.” Lifting the skirt of her gown, she swept past Gemma and followed the others to the Witch Queen’s privy chamber.

  CHAPTER 10

  “I’m going to kill everyone in this place!”

  Caid grabbed the hammer that Keeley was swinging around and, for a few brief—but terrifying—seconds, they played tug-of-war with the damn thing until he was finally able to get it away from her.

  “You need to calm down!”

  “What if it’s true? What if the town’s been burned to the ground? What if it’s our fault?”

  “Our fault?” Gemma asked. “Don’t you mean her fault?” She pointed at Beatrix. “She who would be queen?”

  “How can you blame her? She knew nothing about any of this.”

  “How do you know?” Gemma demanded. “You don’t know what she’s been up to!”

  “You sound ridiculous!”

  “Our entire town is destroyed and, once again, you’re only worried about poor Beatrix!”

  “Our town? Bitch, you haven’t even been here in more than a decade!”

  Gemma pushed past a now-human Laila so she could scream right in her sister’s face. “Are you going to keep throwing that at me? It’s still my town! I still care!”

  “You don’t care about anyone but yourself!” Keeley screeched, shoving her sister hard.

  Gemma kept her feet, so she was able to come right back and shove Keeley. Then they took hold and were trying to drag each other to the ground.

  Caid caught Keeley around the waist and pulled while Laila attempted to grab Gemma, but that got her a defensive elbow to the face, breaking her nose.

  His sister’s head snapped back. “Owwwwww!”

  Keran stepped in then, pushing her hands between the battling sisters and shoving them apart.

  “That’s it!” she bellowed.

  The sisters began to point at each other and screech, but Caid had no idea who was saying what. Keran didn’t let all the screeching and hysterics bother her. She just grabbed each woman by her collar and yanked the two close. She began whispering to them, and whatever she said managed to calm them down. Then she jerked her head toward a corner and Caid saw Beatrix standing there. Alone, quiet, and very pale. She had her hands tucked into a fur muff, the hood of her cape over her head.

  Noticing what Caid assumed was her sister’s devastation, Keeley pulled away from Gemma and Keran and went to Beatrix.

  “Come,” she coaxed, gently taking Beatrix by the arm and leading her out of the chamber they were in.

  Relieved not to have to get between a War Monk and a pissed-off blacksmith, Caid now focused on his own sister.

  Her nose was still bleeding and there were growing bruises around her eyes.

  When Caid placed his fingers around her nose to feel the damage, his sister whispered, “We need to talk.”

  Together, they exited the chamber and headed down the passage. They passed the chamber that Keeley and Beatrix were in, the pair against the far wall, speaking softly to each other. They continued on until they found another empty chamber and stepped inside. Thankfully, all these passages and chambers were well lit with torches affixed to the wall, so while they spoke, Caid could put his sister’s nose back where it belonged.

  “What is happening?” La
ila asked.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Do you think that witch is toying with them? Ow!”

  “Sorry. Sorry. She’s done some damage to your nose.”

  “Do what you must.”

  “And I doubt the witches are toying with anyone. They’re not exactly known for having a playful way with people.”

  “But both sisters can’t be queen.”

  “I know that. And so does Keeley. Honestly, though, she doesn’t even want to be queen.”

  His sister pulled her head back so she could look him in the eyes. “Come now, Caid. Who wouldn’t want to be queen?”

  And Caid answered honestly, “Keeley Smythe. Or have you not been paying attention this entire trip?”

  * * *

  “I don’t care what any of these bitches say, Sister. I have no intention of being queen.”

  “I know that,” Beatrix replied softly. “I really do.”

  “But why would they say that? Are they hoping to turn us against each other?” Keeley shook her head. “That’s foolish. That would never happen. We’re family.”

  “Of course.”

  Keeley began pacing around the chamber. “So what now? How do we confirm you as queen and move on from here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how do we make you queen so you can destroy the Devourer for what he’s done and then build our town back? All the people we’ve ever known have lost their homes. Their businesses. Their entire lives were there. And he’s destroyed it all. Because of us. As queen, you can fix that.”

  Beatrix flashed a small but sweet smile. “Gods, Sister. You really do care, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Keeley stopped pacing and stood in front of Beatrix. “Just tell me what you want me to do. Tell me what you need from me. So we can fix this and help those who are innocent. It’s the right thing to do. You see that, yes?”

  “I see it.”

  “Good. Now”—Keeley clapped her hands together—“I say we go back to the throne room and talk to the witches and . . . and . . . and . . .”

  Keeley stopped talking. Her mind felt wiped clean and for a moment, she forgot what they’d been discussing. She forgot where she was. She forgot who she was. She forgot everything.

  But she forgot only for a moment. Then it came rushing back and she finally looked away from her sister’s face and down at her hand, which was wrapped around the bloody knife handle sticking out of Keeley’s lower gut.