The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

”I have to go,” she said reluctantly.

Atheris lifted his head. ”Be careful, little spark.”

”I always am.”

”Be more careful.” His tone shifted, turning serious. ”Something is changing. I can feel it. The world is shifting beneath our feet, and you are at the center of it.”

Morgana frowned. ”What do you mean?”

But Atheris had already closed his eyes, his breathing slowing into the deep rhythm of sleep...or the pretense of it.

She knew better than to push.

With a sigh, she turned and made her way back through the tunnel, extinguishing the flame in her palm as she stepped out into the predawn light.

The journey back was faster. The sky was beginning to blush with the first hints of sunrise by the time she slipped back into the village.

The streets were still empty, but they wouldn’t be for long. The bakers would be up soon, the fishmonger, the early risers preparing for the day.

Morgana moved quickly, keeping to the shadows.

She reached the cottage just as the sun broke over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.

She slipped inside, eased the door shut, and...

Her mother was standing in the main room.

Morgana froze.

Her mother stood by the cold hearth, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She was already dressed, her hair braided, her shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders.

And she was looking directly at Morgana.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then her mother’s gaze dropped to Morgana’s boots...muddy and wet from the forest floor. To her cloak...covered in bits of leaves and moss. To her hands...still faintly warm from the magic she’d used in the cave.

Her mother’s eyes lifted back to hers.

”You’re up early,” she said quietly.

Morgana’s heart hammered in her chest. ”I... couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk.”

Her mother’s expression didn’t change. ”A walk.”

”Yes.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Then her mother turned away, moving toward the table. ”There’s porridge in the pot. Eat before it gets cold.”

Morgana blinked. ”That’s... that’s it?”

Her mother didn’t look at her. ”What else would there be?”

Morgana opened her mouth, then closed it.

Her mother knew.

She knew.

But she wasn’t going to say anything.

Well maybe not yet.

Morgana swallowed hard. ”Thank you,” she whispered.

Her mother’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but she didn’t turn around. ”Go wash up. You look like you’ve been rolling in the dirt.”

Morgana fled to her room before her mother could see the tears in her eyes.

In the main room, Elara stood alone, her hands gripping the edge of the table.

***

*The Next Day*

The town crier arrived at midday.

Morgana heard him before she saw him, the sharp clang of his bell echoing through the market square, cutting through the usual noise of merchants and hagglers like a blade.

”Hear ye! Hear ye!”

The square fell quiet.

Morgana paused mid-step, her hand hovering over a bundle of dried lavender at Bess’s flower stall. Her mother had sent her to buy herbs for flatbread, and she’d been trying to stretch their three remaining coppers as far as they would go.

Bess, ever generous, had been pretending not to notice.

But now even Bess had stopped arranging her flowers, her attention drawn to the center of the square where the town crier stood on his wooden platform, his crimson cloak billowing in the breeze.

He was a tall man, thin and sharp-featured, with a voice that carried like a church bell.

”By order of His Majesty King Draeven, and in the name of the Royal Council of the Draconian Realm!”

Morgana’s stomach tightened.

Royal decrees were never good news.

The crier unfurled a scroll with a flourish, his eyes scanning the growing crowd. ”It is hereby announced that the royal palace is in need of additional household staff to serve during the upcoming season of guests and festivities!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

”Positions available include chambermaid, kitchen staff, laundry attendant, and general service. All applicants must be of good character, sound health, and willing to commit to a minimum term of one year. Wages will be provided at the rate of ten silver marks per month, with room and board included!”

Ten silver marks.

Morgana’s breath caught.

That was more than most families in the village made in three months.

”Those interested are to present themselves at the palace gates three days hence, at first light! That is all!”

The crier rang his bell one final time, rolled up his scroll, and descended from the platform.

The market exploded into noise.

Everyone was talking at once...excited, speculative, skeptical. Ten silver marks a month was a fortune for common folk. But working in the palace...

That was dangerous in its own way.

”Morgana.”

She turned to find Rowan standing beside her, her eyes bright with excitement.

Rowan was shorter than Morgana, with wild auburn curls that refused to be tamed and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She worked in her father’s bakery and had been Morgana’s closest friend since they were children, one of the few people in the village who didn’t treat Morgana like she was made of glass because of her mother’s illness.

”Did you hear that?” Rowan grabbed Morgana’s arm, her grip tight. ”Ten silver marks! Can you imagine?”

Morgana pulled her arm free gently. ”It’s a lot of money.”

”It’s a fortune.” Rowan’s grin was infectious. ”We should apply.”

Morgana blinked. ”We?”

”Yes, we.” Rowan gestured between them. ”You and me. Together. Think about it....room and board means we wouldn’t have to pay for food or lodging. We could send all the money home. My da could finally fix the roof on the bakery, and your ma....”

She stopped, her expression softening.

”Your ma could get proper medicine,” she finished quietly. ”Real medicine. Not just herbs and hope.”

Morgana looked away, her chest tightening.

Rowan wasn’t wrong.

Her mother’s cough had been getting worse. The herbalist had done what she could, but it wasn’t enough. Morgana had been saving every spare copper for months, but it was never enough. Medicine...real medicine, the kind prescribed by the palace physicians, cost more than they could ever afford.