Page 74 of The Black Witch

There are no books or maps strewn about today. No small children running around. The smell of hearty soup hangs thick in the air.

Lukas looks around, taking his time surveying the scene, taking in every last detail with hard, dark green eyes.

“Good afternoon,” he finally says, his tone and posture showing his displeasure.

“Good afternoon, Mage Grey,” Fernyllia Hawthorne responds. She looks positively stricken.

Lukas glares at her with disdain. “I’d like to speak with Fernyllia Hawthorne, Iris Morgaine and Bleddyn Arterra.”

Fernyllia nervously wipes the flour and bread dough from her hands, visibly trying to collect herself before approaching. Iris and Bleddyn march over, shooting threatening glares at me as they do so. I feel myself withering under the force of their combined hatred and glance over at Lukas. He doesn’t seem the least bit impressed.

“I don’t really believe much in small talk,” Lukas states curtly, “so let’s just get to the point, shall we? Iris Morgaine. I understand your parents are still farming.”

I jerk my gaze toward Lukas, surprised.Where is he going with this?

Iris also looks thrown by the unexpected turn of the conversation, her brow knitting tightly as she glares at Lukas with confusion. “Yes,” she says warily.

“And their farm is right on the Gardnerian border?” Lukas continues.

“It is.”

“Right next to the Essex military encampment, I believe?”

“Yes.”

Everyone has the same puzzled expression. Everyone, that is, except for Fernyllia and Yvan, the former looking flat-out scared, and the latter more furious by the second.

“I’m sure you’re aware that the location of the border there is a matter of some dispute between your government and ours,” Lukas continues.

Iris is silent, her face a picture of dawning horror.

Lukas continues to stare her down. “It would be a shame if our military decided to requisition your parents’ farmland. It would also be a shame if something went amiss during military training exercises, and your parents’ home was fired upon...by accident, of course. These types of occurrences are, luckily, very rare, but they do happen from time to time.”

Iris’s mouth opens a few times as if she wants to say something, but no sound comes out. Lukas appears amused by Iris’s discomfiture.

A cold unease pricks at the back of my neck.

“I will alert my father, Lachlan Grey, High Commander of the Gardnerian Military Forces, as to the whereabouts of your parents’ home, to make sure such an unfortunate event does not occur.”

“Thank...thank you,” Iris finally manages, her voice shaky now, all defiance shattered. “Thank you, sir.”

Lukas nods, pleased with her response, and turns to Bleddyn. “And you, Bleddyn Arterra. You have a mother who labors on the Fae Islands.”

Bleddyn narrows her eyes at him, a blood vessel at her temple becoming more pronounced, her face and body growing rigid with tension. It’s clear that she wants to lash out at us, that she’s struggling to rein in her anger.

“She’s been ill, hasn’t she?” Lukas prods Bleddyn.

Bleddyn doesn’t say anything, but the side of her mouth twitches, her eyes murderous.

“It would be bad for her if it were found that she had been distributing Resistance propaganda amongst the other laborers,” Lukas says smoothly. “That could be grounds for getting her transported to the Pyrran Isles. It’s difficult to survive there if a person is of a healthy constitution. Your mother might not fare well in a place such as that.”

My mind spins, almost dizzy with conflict. The Pyrran Isles—a storm-lashed military prison and war camp—are where we sent our enemies at the end of the Realm War.

Bleddyn’s face collapses. Lukas’s mouth curls up on one side, like a cat immobilizing a mouse.

“There’s no need to look so worried,” he assures her. “Even if your mother were found to be dabbling in the Resistance, I’m sure that a lot could be overlooked if her daughter were to exhibit model behavior, having been so generously granted work papers by the Gardnerian government. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes,” Bleddyn croaks out, almost inaudibly.

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