The Queen sat at a desk in her quiet and dark quarters, considering how her plans were coming along, while Bones relaxed on a rug, which was where he preferred to sleep, since the Queen hadn’t slept in centuries.

  The dark was essential to the process the Queen had started with Marta, allowing her to concentrate on sorting through the other witch’s memories, to minimize the interference patterns within the magic of her body, which functioned very much like the granite of Foundation Stone. One soul in one body allowed maximum efficiency, with only a small amount of wasted magic. Two souls was slightly less efficient, due to each soul producing a slightly different variation of each spell cast, but the effective power was greater than any individual soul could achieve.

  The Queen had been consuming at least one soul every twenty-five to fifty years for so long, her magic had become rather inefficient, but each addition extended her life and allowed her to refresh her body, until she looked alive again, though the fresh surge of power always faded. The forced her to choose between keeping her own body fresh, or that of Bones. Bones didn’t deserve the torment of a rotting body and the Queen always put his needs first, in that regard.

  Someday, she would unlock the secrets to true immortality, then she and Bones would both have their bodies fully restored, in perpetuity. Until then, the Queen would have to endure the pain.

  Marta had fallen for the trap and was currently in the process of synchronizing her soul with the Queen, in the hopes of winning a duel, which was amusing, while the Queen was working to more fully understand Marta.

  Things were coming along with Iris, as well. Mina Trevlis, the Docking Witch for Foundation Stone, had been getting the most unusual tidbits from Iris since she broke her, including stories of a strange talent for turning remote-viewing into a more physical spell, which was possibly the most bizarre thing the Queen had ever heard, almost as if Iris had accidentally learned to put her spirit out of her body, but also to act on the physical world with it, just like a strong ghost.

  Unfortunately, the little dog had no idea how she did it and since she’d given up that fact, she’d been left alone. The Queen would be forced to tease the facts directly out of Iris’ soul, once they were linked, which wouldn’t be easy. Normally, only keystone memories were shared and digging for something specific was insanely difficult.

  Fortunately, Rowley’s ship was nearly fully repaired and the insufferable woman would soon be on her way. Sadly, that was not likely to happen before the youngest of the Blackwell sisters attacked, which might complicate matters.

  The Queen laid back in her chair and closed her eyes, to meditate on Marta’s memories.

  Marta had been married just a week before and she waited by the door of the small shack she and her husband, Zayne, had rented. She was excited to see him, because she’d been planning how she would greet him, all day long, starting with a passionate kiss. She’d also brushed her hair and put on the blue, lacy dress that was Zayne’s favorite, which had been a wedding gift from Mother, along with a nice suit for Zayne. The gifts had been for the sake of having something nice to wear to Sunday services, but Marta felt a wonderful connection to both family and her husband, whenever she wore that dress.

  There was a knock at the front door, which was strange, but Marta rose and answered it. Father stood there, though he looked down. His hands were clenched, because he was enraged, though he barely managed to keep a lid on it.

  “What is it?”

  “Your…your mother and Iris did their best, but…Zayne’s dead.”

  “No! No!” Marta burst into tears.

  Her father stepped inside, wrapping his arms around Marta as he tried to soothe her, “I’m here, my girl. I’m here.”

  Marta wailed and cried, tears falling from her cheeks like a waterfall of grief. She pounded her fists into her father’s shoulders and chest out of frustration, literally bruising him, but he never complained. He guided her to a couch and they sat down, to mourn together.

  After nearly an hour of sobbing, the tears slowed enough for Marta to finally ask, “How?”

  “Don’t know who did it, but we found him tied to a tree, with a pack of wolves on him. My cutting team took care of the wolves that weren’t smart enough to run. Zayne was still alive, so we cut him loose and took him to your mother…” Father trailed off, because he was too upset to continue, and his hands clenched into fists, demonstrating his own anger and frustration.

  Elsbeth stepped back and out of Marta, shaking her head, her red curls waving about as she muttered, “How sad. Makes me glad I never married.”

  She walked away from the scene, passing right through the wall.

  Marta stood at the edge of a field littered with burned corpses, six months into her career as an artillery witch in service to Dugaria. Lieutenant Farcreek and Sergeant Clawridge stood on either side of her, their eyes practically popping out of their skulls with surprise.

  “I’m sorry.” Marta looked down, overwhelmed by the guilt of what she’d done.

  “Never apologize for-” the Sergeant cursed, “fine work, because you just personally busted a giant hole in Skobia’s battle lines!”

  “You should be proud of what you’ve done for Dugaria.” The Lieutenant suggested, “We were only supposed to be a distraction. Who could have predicted you had this much power?”

  They didn’t understand and never would, because Marta hadn’t been apologizing to them. She’d meant the words for the hundreds of men she just killed, despite the fact they couldn’t hear her.

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  Marta shed a few tears for the dead, then wiped them away, saying, “I apologize for my loss of control, because I’ve never killed before.”

  In truth, the initial horror of seeing what she’d done had massively amplified Marta’s magic, turning a small explosion into a chained series that had torn through the enemy lines as if they’d been tissue paper. Fire spells were normally quite controlled, but all magic tended to respond to emotion, which was part of the fight-or-flight response of a witch.

  “No worries.” The Sergeant spoke solemnly and with a hint of kindness, “You got the enemy. No big deal if you got too many of them. They all gotta die sooner or later,” he spat on the ground, “since they refuse to surrender.”

  “Indeed, Sergeant.” Lieutenant Farcreek agreed, then looked up at Marta, “I think I’ll recommend you for a promotion, Private. What do you think, Sergeant?”

  “That’s a-” the Sergeant cursed, “fine idea. She’s got an eye for detail and looks after the other men, almost like a big sister.” He touched the rim of his hat, glanced up at Marta and added, “No pun intended.”

  Marta nodded and went with the flow, because she didn’t care. She’d killed hundreds of men in cold blood and life as she knew it was over. She was a weapon of war, whether she wanted it or not. She’d tried to avoid it, but she was too talented with energetic magic for her abilities to be ignored.

  Her promotion to Corporal gave her additional duties, but she learned and performed them with a sense of professional detachment, which came easy to her, because she felt like a vengeful ghost walking among the living. She didn’t care about the men she served with, because their hands were just as stained with blood as her own.

  Elsbeth stepped backwards out of the memory of Marta’s body and commented, “You have such destructive talent, yet you call yourself a pacifist? What fool raised you? They should have fostered your talent, rather than expecting you to hide it.”

  She glared at Marta’s backside as the soldiers picked through the bodies, looking for survivors, though Elsbeth wasn’t sure if they were looking to put them out of their misery, or just being thorough about killing every last enemy soldier. From time to time, the small unit of men employed their swords to end a life.

  Marta woke and unbuckled herself from the acceleration couch in the entry bay of Starwitch. She stepped into the witchpit and stood beside Iris, who sat in the pilot’s seat, dressed in a one-piece bodysuit Amelia had designed for working on the ship. Marta looked out at brilliant stars more bright than any she’d ever seen before, because they’d passed into their home world’s shadow.

  She looked down at her military uniform and all the dark deeds she’d done in it flooded back from her memory.

  Though she felt free of the war between Dugaria and Skobia, she doubted it would ever truly be over for her, because she’d taken thousands of lives, just to save her own skin. She had all sorts of excuses, but none of them had ever been enough to stave off the guilt. She’d broken her vow to do no harm and there was nothing she could do to take back what she’d done. Tears rolled down her cheeks in a torrent she’d held back for five years.

  Iris looked up at her sister and asked, “You gonna be okay?”

  “No.” Marta admitted.

  Iris nodded, “Want to talk about it?”

  “Where am I supposed to begin?” Marta shrugged and spread her arms wide, then looked down at her hands, which were dripping with blood she knew wasn’t real, “I killed people. I killed a lot of people. I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway!” She hissed, “How can I ever make that right?”

  “You can’t,” Iris sighed, “and I probably have just as much blood on my hands, for being such an effective remote-viewer. Most of the time, they had me counting bodies, but every once in a while, I was forced to recommend targets. I couldn’t make the wrong choice without tipping our hand. I never saw the deaths I caused, but I know what I did.

  “However, I don’t blame us for the things we did to survive. The blame rests squarely on the shoulders of the King and his generals, for tricking us into military service.” Iris met the gaze of Marta, “We followed orders to give Amelia time to build Starwitch, so we could never be forced to make such a terrible choice again. We’re free and Amelia delivered the plans for her weapons to Skobia. With any luck, they’ll win the war.”

  “But that doesn’t make up for all the men I took from their mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, not to mention their wives and children!” Marta shook her head, “I don’t feel any better than I did before we launched. I don’t feel free, because I’ll wear these chains for the rest of my life!”

  Iris stood and hugged her sister, “I love you and I know you’ll get past this. Just give yourself a little time.”

  Marta cried on her sister’s shoulder for a long moment, then admitted, “You’re right, of course.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  Marta shook her head and Iris led the way toward crew quarters, where Amelia was fast asleep. They quietly got themselves some jerked meat and cheese, then headed back to the witchpit, where they talked about their military service, because they both knew Amelia wouldn’t understand.

  Elsbeth stepped out of Marta and looked around at the little ship’s interior, feeling a sense of peace, tranquility and even love that certainly didn’t pervade her own ship, though she remembered a similar feeling from the ship she’d grown up on. Elsbeth’s mother was long-dead, of course, but she still craved the sense of family and belonging that the Blackwell sisters had demonstrated.

  Iris and Marta trusted Amelia so much, they’d allowed themselves to become living weapons, just to buy her time to build a path to escape. That was an incredible measure of faith, beyond anything Elsbeth had ever experienced and she felt bad about what she’d done to them.

  She violently shook her head, tossing her red curls around as she discarded the infectious notions.

  Marta stepped out of her own memory, stood up and turned around, “Didn’t work, eh?”

  “What?” Elsbeth balked, “How can you do this inside my mind?”

  Marta shrugged, “I don’t know how it works, but the version of you lurking inside my mind that’s been trying to trick me did say that by exchanging pieces of our souls, you created a link between us.”

  Elsbeth tried to back away, but Marta’s hand snaked out with lightning speed, employing a martial arts technique she learned in Dugaria! Pulling Elsbeth’s wrist backwards, Marta punched with the other hand in the same movement, solidly connecting with Elsbeth’s nose!

  “I hate to admit it, but we have a few things in common.” Marta spoke calmly as one of her knees struck Elsbeth in the gut, knocking her to the floor, “You see, I’ve killed almost as many people as you, but for totally different reasons. I’d never try to cheat death with magic, because I look forward to the day I’ll see my parents again.” Marta put a boot on Elsbeth’s neck, pinning her in place and choking her as she went on, “You may have started this fight, but I’m-” she cursed, “well going to finish it! Perhaps accepting you is the path to one of us being eaten, but if it’s eat or be eaten, then I know exactly what to do! After the entire ocean of grief I’ve swallowed, what’s a little more in the name of putting you down, once and for all?”

  Elsbeth looked up with horror and even a hint of admiration as Marta’s jaw opened unnaturally wide, while her body grew longer and her limbs melted away, revealing a huge, green, scaly serpent, which loomed over Elsbeth!

  She rolled away and dove through a wall, seeking escape!

  The Queen woke from her meditation, breathing heavily. Bones stepped over and licked her hand.

  “Clearly, I underestimated this one.” The Queen muttered to herself, wiped a little drool from the side of her mouth, cracked her knuckles, then smiled evilly, “This just makes things more interesting.”

  She settled back down and started her meditation from the beginning, but this time, she set her entire mind on it.