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Of course, she was not.
She spelled the dart.
“Why would you spell the dart when you do not even know the target.”
“I sell my services, Your Majesty,” she smiled. I noted how she suddenly remembered to show some respect. Was it a part of her plan? Was she trying to make me think that I could buy her services? Her loyalty?
“You still killed my father, and for that, you will suffer,” I growled.
She blanched a little, but she tried to keep her composure. I reminded myself that some witches could appear several years younger if they needed be. The Touch was a coven of witches who gleaned things from holding the hands of people. The coven also trained in passing energy. They did not absorb but simply passed powers from one to another. They were supposed to work as a team.
However, this young witch here had made her moves alone. Was she a rogue witch, as she seemed to imply?
“You can do to me what you will, Your Majesty. I have nothing much to live for,” she said, resigned. Then, she pulled up her sleeve and showed burns all over her arms.
“What are those?”
“I was a fire stealer and a medium. I bit more than I could chew, letting deadly things pass through me when I did not have the strength to control them.”
It was then that I knew that whoever Rowan was, she was related to me by blood.
