16 Rhona
Rhona
Rhona was shaken awake in her uncomfortable cot by a cold metal hand. Her eyes blearily cracked open; the light of the sun
was not permeating the dark room—it was still night. Adrenaline rushed through her in an instant. What was going on?
“Sir Rhona,” the soldier who woke her said. “There’s been a fire at several of the noble manors, it’s all hands on deck.”
Rhona jumped up, still groggy from sleep but she shook it off. This was serious. “Where am I heading?” she said as she strode
to where her armor sat in the tiny room’s corner.
“The Heathecote residence,” he said quickly before turning abruptly and heading out. “Sir Rhona . . . we don’t know who did
this, or why—be cautious.”
Rhona dressed in her leathers at the speed of light.
Full plate was always ideal when on official business, but with a fire, time and speed were of the essence.
She needed to make sure she got everyone out of the home if they hadn’t already evacuated.
She weighed her options. The Heathecote manor was a two-minute ride on horseback from the barracks, or a five-minute sprint.
It would take ten minutes to get to the stables and saddle a horse. She ran.
The air was thick with fog and smoke, obscuring much of what she’d normally be able to see in the dark of the night. She heard
soldiers barking orders to fire wardens. Rhona remembered a time when fires were less threatening because any witch with water
elemental abilities could summon the water to put it out. Now they had crafted a new method of carrying water that took much
longer, leaving fires to rage dangerously. It was an unfortunate side effect of making sure the dangerous nature of witches
didn’t put the people of Astra at risk, but even Rhona had to admit that water summoning had been useful.
Who had done this? Strange things had been happening throughout Astra for the past year. Complete crops dying, once-fresh
water turning to poison, but fires? That seemed like a step past sabotaging farmers’ fields. It seemed deliberate, almost
deadly, like someone was very unhappy with the Iron Empire’s most powerful people.
Rhona thought back to the room where they’d planned the uprising as she ran. Fire had always been an option on the table,
but Lord General Kerrigan had insisted on it only being used as a last resort. If there were new rebels, they were more vicious than her crew had ever been. She definitely needed to talk to the lord general about it.
Rhona ran into the courtyard of the Heathecote manor and saw that, thankfully, only one wing of the home had been consumed
by fire. There were half a dozen people already outside the manor in their sleepwear.
“A guard!” one woman bundled in a singed silk robe shouted, and they all turned their heads toward Rhona.
“Sir Rhona,” Rhona said, saluting her hand to the embossed leather sigil on her chest. “Is there anyone else in the building?”
“My eldest daughter,” Lord Heathecote said as he echoed Rhona’s salute. “She is a very deep sleeper, but we did expect her to have come out by now. We’re worried. I was about to run back in to get her.”
“No need,” Rhona said. “That’s what I’m here for. Exit the courtyard and keep a clear distance from the home. Fire wardens
will be here with water as soon as they can.”
She ran into the home without another word. Most noble manors had a similar layout, so Rhona knew her safest bet was to check
the wing with the family’s chambers first, and then she’d expand her search if need be. Hopefully Lady Heathecote was simply
in such a deep sleep that she didn’t hear the commotion; otherwise there could be something very, very wrong.
Rhona barreled up the stairs two at a time and into the wing that housed the family’s private chambers, which thankfully was
very far from the fire. There were eight rooms, and six open doors. Rhona kicked open the closest door to find an empty room.
No bed, no furniture, just an empty space. She moved to the next and kicked open that door.
The room was beautifully adorned, with dark purple walls and a canopy bed. The logs in the fireplace were still burning, and
a deep mahogany writing desk sat by the window. Lady Heathecote had clearly brought tropical plants from the south into her
space, luscious and green exotic plants filling every spare inch of the room. What took Rhona’s breath away, however, was
how Lady Heathecote was sat, dressed in her pajamas, in a wingback chair . . . staring right at her.
“It took you longer to get here than I expected.”
Witch. Rhona knew she’d been right.
“And how would you know it was me coming for you?” Rhona asked.
“You already know,” Lady Heathecote said, her dark lips smirking.
“And you know witchcraft of your kind is forbidden, right?” Rhona snarled.
“You caught on quicker than I thought,” Lady Maeve retorted, rolling her eyes. “Of course I know. How do you think I’ve hidden it for so long?”
So, she had strategically exposed herself to Rhona, meaning she . . . knew that Rhona wasn’t going to do anything? Rhona’s
head started spinning, trying to understand how a seer’s magic worked.
“I could arrest you here and now for committing an illegal act,” Rhona retorted, saying the first thing she could think of.
She would is what she should have said. But . . . Lady Heathecote was so beautiful and kind, and would condemning someone who used
her abilities to make sure Rhona saved someone really be the right thing to do? Lady Maeve had only used her abilities to
warn Rhona that Lord Wilmer was going to fall to his death. Was that truly evil?
But she’s a witch—her abilities are dangerous and dark, the loudest part of her mind spoke. Yes, and that doesn’t make her evil, a quieter part responded.
“You won’t,” Lady Heathecote said. “At least, you won’t tonight.”
“So you are a seer?” Rhona pushed, wanting her to confess out loud. “Does your whole family know?”
“No one knows,” Lady Heathecote said, her dark skin shining in the warm golden light of the fire. That seemed impossible,
and almost like Lady Heathecote was lying to Rhona to protect someone else. But that was the least of Rhona’s worries right
now.
“Did you wait here because you knew I was coming to get your family?”
“Yes.”
“Did you set the fires to activate the Iron Retinue to get me here alone?” Rhona was being paranoid, but she needed to know.
Letting Lady Heathecote’s prophesying go was going to be a challenge in itself, but if she was also an arsonist, there was
no way she could keep it quiet.
“Of course I didn’t, but that’s part of the reason I’ve decided to tell you about my gift,” Lady Maeve scoffed.
Rhona snorted in disbelief. Gift? Magic wasn’t a gift; it was a plague. A plague that the Iron Empire had all but eradicated.
Rhona shook her head and stepped back, peeking out the door, making sure the fire hadn’t spread to this wing yet.
“This is a terrible place to have this conversation,” Rhona said, suppressing her thoughts on witchcraft for the present.
Lady Heathecote smiled and Rhona’s heart fluttered, just a little bit. She hated that it did.
“We have time still,” Lady Heathecote said calmly, her eyes focused on the door to her room before she looked back at Rhona.
“Something is happening. Here in Astrad, and outside of the capital as well. My visions, that’s how I see what I see, they’ve
been strange. Harder for me to puzzle together.”
“And?” Was Rhona meant to be sympathetic that the witch couldn’t control her future-telling visions? Seemed like a positive
from where she was standing.
“I know you have a large part to play in what’s to come,” Lady Heathecote said, standing slowly without concern for the fire
raging through her family’s home.
A large part to play? Rhona’s heart started racing, the dreams she’d had of importance and responsibility suddenly seeming
more and more possible. Lord General Kerrigan had not been lying; there must be something more that the Iron Empire had planned
for her.
Her excitement stifled as she remembered she was learning this from a seer. A seer who hadn’t done anything wrong to Rhona,
true, but whose existence was outlawed in the Iron Empire all the same. It was Rhona’s job to protect Lady Maeve and the other
nobility . . . but what happened when the person you were meant to protect was also the person you needed to ensure was executed?
Rhona watched Lady Heathecote grab a robe and wrap it around her shapely waist—yellow and embroidered with flowers, made of the lightest of airy fabrics.
Rhona could see the outline of Lady Heathecote’s perfectly proportioned curves, and she felt the sudden, confusing urge to touch her.
No, she admonished herself. Knights do not touch ladies. Knights protect ladies.
As if she could see Rhona’s internal struggles, Lady Heathecote smirked and took a step forward.
“Usually, I can rely on my visions to carry me to wherever I need to be.” Lady Heathecote tossed on a duster for warmth in
the cold air outside. “But these visions are jumbled. The only consistent factor in them right now is you, so I need to keep
you close.”
“You wish to use me as a tool to help clarify your visions?”
“Yes,” Lady Maeve responded with a sharp nod.
That was different than using her visions to help the greater good of the Iron Empire. Rhona wasn’t sure if she was comfortable
with any of this, never mind the visions being used for a noblewoman’s personal gain.
“Absolutely not.” Rhona shook her head with enough force she felt the muscles in her neck twinge.
“You will let me,” Lady Heathecote answered, slowly slipping a shoe on. She wasn’t arguing, but Rhona was.
“I will not.” Rhona insisted.
“You will,” Lady Heathecote declared, slipping her other shoe on calmly. “My visions do not lie.”
“Your visions are wrong. I will shield you from persecution for now, but you must stop acting on these visions. This is forbidden
magic—you must let nature take its course.”
Rhona didn’t understand why she wasn’t just turning the lady in or executing her herself. Something was nagging at Rhona . . .
but what was it?
“My visions have never been wrong, and if you work with me we will be able to prevent harm.”
“Your magic is harmful,” Rhona spit.
“I knew that the fires tonight would happen, I knew you would come here. Imagine if I could warn you about something that could save a life, that could prevent a disaster?”
“Wishful thinking,” Rhona responded, but her mind was racing. Preventing disaster? Rhona only wished to help the Iron Empire’s
people. That was it, she realized with cold, sudden clarity. Rhona had already seen how Lady Heathecote’s visions could save
a life, and it contradicted everything she thought she knew about seers.
“Sir Rhona,” Lady Heathecote said, stepping closer and looking up at her. “I understand you do not trust witches, I understand
that the Iron Retinue sees me as a monster, but something is going on in Astra, and it is dangerous. My visions haven’t made
sense for months, but the moment I spoke to you they became clearer. If I’m to help protect the people of Astra in the only
way I can, I must be near you right now.”
Rhona hated this. A good knight would report the witch, regardless of potential lives saved . . . right? She could smell the
smoke thickening. The fire had spread. They needed to go.
Rhona grabbed Lady Heathecote’s arm and started running through the house, toward the direction she had come. The fire had
spread, but it wasn’t dangerous enough that they couldn’t get out. Rhona thought about how long it had taken Lady Heathecote
to put on her robe. She knew every moment of this night and how it would play out. Seering was dangerous. It was forbidden.
But Rhona had seen the writing on the wall: the strange events throughout Astra, the fires tonight, the way that some of her
fellow knights had been disappearing, the letter from her parents about their farm being decimated by a new plague. Rhona
hated to admit it, but there could be advantages to knowing the next steps of the people around her. Which is exactly what caused people to overuse dangerous magic like this in the past, she thought.
They made it out of the house just as the fire wardens arrived.
“Sir,” one shouted in the distance as he saluted to Rhona. “Is that everyone?”
“It is,” Rhona called back as Lady Maeve’s father ran toward the approaching fire wardens. Before she went toward Lady Heathecote’s
family, she turned to face the distractingly beautiful, dangerous witch backlit by the burning manor. “I will report you if
you step out of line. Everything we do or discuss must only be for the benefit of the Iron Empire.”
“Duly noted,” Lady Heathecote answered, curtsying before turning to her family and whispering over her shoulder. “We’ll talk
more tomorrow.”
What would have seemed like a simple comment before now meant something different to Rhona. Her skin crawled as she thought
about how Lady Heathecote very likely knew precisely when they would talk next. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.
For the Iron Empire, Rhona would do what needed to be done.