Page 5 of The Iron Hex

“You’re welcome for saving your life, my lord,” Rhona said, standing and brushing herself off.

Three of the noblemen who had been walking with their partners ran over to Lord Wilmer, helping him up and walking him out of the treacherous garden.

“That knight was so quick,” Rhona heard some of the noblewomen whispering as she moved back into her guarding position.

“No wonder they agreed to having a woman in their ranks if she’s that good,” another said, thinking that Rhona couldn’t hear them.

She could.

Perhaps this event would teach the lord a lesson he desperately needed to learn; he was always drinking too much and making a fool of himself.

The rest of her shift passed uneventfully, but Rhona was lost in thought about one thing in particular: Lady Maeve Heathecote.

The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling.

Lord Wilmer was a drunk; the entire capital knew that. But Lady Maeve had never encouraged Rhona to watch over him specifically, and she did it on the day that he could have died.

Maybe it was an overreaction, but it seemed like it could be prophetic work—seering. This was illegal magic, banned by the Iron Empire early into their reign. Rhona had executed a handful of witches during her hunts, and the hardest to catch were the ones that could see you coming with their visions. Rhona supposed it could have been a coincidence, but... she’d always been eerily good at spotting witches, even before most magic was made illegal.

Something about Lady Heathecote was piquing that sense of Rhona’s. A witch, caught hiding among the highest-ranking nobility in Astra? Oh, to be the knight that caught that witch.

It was too soon to assume, but Rhona found herself leaving the garden wondering if she should quietly start to put herself in Lady Maeve’s path to see if the noblewoman showed even more signs of being a witch.

It seemed like a great way for her to prove her importance to the Iron Empire.

5

Eira

When Eira stepped into her home after her discombobulating meeting with that handsome stranger, she heard a strange noise, and then... that same malignant feeling she’d had in her shop that morning washed over her. Instead of preparing her dinner, she spent an hour cleansing the space, muttering to Pennyroyal about how the full moon was making everything feel off.

Before she knew it, Eira glanced out her window to see that the sun had set, leaving her with the perfect opportunity to go and find her dinner elsewhere. In a town as small as Cilirien, there was only one place to go after a long day of work—the Honeyed Horn. And while Eira wasn’t interested in any of the men in this small town, she certainly liked to dress up on the nights she decided to visit and have a few drinks.

Not only had she woken up this morning feeling off, but she’d gone to work with her hair looking less than perfect—whichwouldhappen on the day she’d met a handsome stranger. So yes, Eira Eckhart was going to get ready to go to the local tavern, but she wasn’t going to spend hours getting ready, because she hadmagic.

Beatrice, the conjured hand that kept her house clean, was also remarkably good at doing Eira’s half-up, half-down pinned hair that she did whenever she wanted a visual pick-me-up. There was nothing that lifted Eira’s spirits more than her hair looking put together. Sure, Beatrice was technically illegal magic, but when had a conjured hand ever hurt anyone? Still, Eira cast it each morning from behind the comfort of closed curtains in her home, and while she knew she should have dismissed Beatrice each day for her own safety, just in case someone stumbled into her home, Eira didn’t. She knew it was risky; the punishment for witches that cast illegal magic was... horrific. Eira didn’t remember the first purges of witches. Her fall had happened just shortly after they had started, or so the local doctor told her, but she remembered the way people had tiptoed around her as they wondered if she’d only been pretending to be just a potions witch.

She hadn’t been pretending; she was truly just an alchemist... who also happened to know one single, harmless conjuration spell that she only did in the privacy of her home.

A single conjuration spell that would have her killed by the Iron Empire if they ever found out about it. Eira didn’t hate the city guards that worked in Cilirien—they were just soldiers doing their jobs—but sometimes she dreamed about what she’d do if she ever met the person who outlawed magic and had her fellow witches executed: the lord general.

As the well-manicured hand worked away, translucent fingers glittering in the periphery of Eira’s eyes, she turned to Pennyroyal. “You’re staying home tonight,” she said to the rabbit sitting on her pillow. “Also, that’s my pillow.”

The rabbit stomped twice, clearly indicating the answers were “no” and “it’s my pillow too.”

Brazen. How did Eira manage to get the most stubborn rabbit in the world?

Because like calls to like, she thought.

“You are staying home,” Eira said as the hand put the finishing touches on her hair, her mind wandering to the hazel eyes and large hands of the man that had been in her store earlier that day. In a second, Beatrice moved quickly away from Eira’s scalp and nearly pulled a chunk of her hair out of her head.

“Ow!” she yelped, looking at the conjured hand that had already course corrected and was pinning her hair properly.

What was going on with her magic? She was distracted; the handsome stranger was stuck in her head. She needed to focus on Beatrice and it would be fine.

Pennyroyal thumped her paws twice again.

“What?” Eira said, rubbing the part of her scalp that was aching but, thankfully, she hadn’t been left with a bald spot.