Page 47 of The Iron Hex

“I’m not privy to that knowledge, only that we want to see the Iron Empire destabilized.”

Rhona squinted, trying to determine if there was a lie anywhere in that, but he seemed to be telling her the truth, none of the classic lying tells present as he spoke. He wasn’t twitching or picking at his skin, and he was unafraid to look directly at her. Rhona had to admit, keeping some agents partially in the dark wasn’t a terrible plan for Corisia. “Who was your primary target?”

“There wasn’t one. We were told just to destabilize as much of the nobility as possible.”

“Did you work with anyone inside the Iron Empire?” Rhona tapped at the metal of the bars with one hand, looking back at the stairs to make sure no one was coming down.

The Corisian smirked. “Like I told your friends, yes, we did. But I don’t know who they are. In Corisia we have some witches still, even if they’re weaker than yours used to be, because we’re not barbaric. It means we’re smart enough to know the tricks to beating a witch who can talk to the Flow and sense truth. Astrans worked with us, but we never saw their faces, never heard their voices.”

Rhona watched him, frustration settling in her belly. This was helpful, surely, but not nearly as helpful as she had wanted it to be. She wanted names, dates, precise things about any sort of growing rebellion that she could bring back to Lady Maeve, who could give her more information that Rhona could then give Lord General Kerrigan. For the glory of the Iron Empire.

“Why do you want to know?” the Corisian asked, getting closer to the door and peering at Rhona, his nailless fingers wrapping around the rusting, filthy bars.

“The Iron Empire must find those who betrayed us,” Rhona answered.

“Right.” The Corisian nodded, a glint in his eye. “But you weren’t in the room when I was being interrogated. You’re here, alone... so why doyouwant to know?”

Shit.

“Private Iron Retinue matters are not the privilege of a prisoner to know,” she said as she shoved the sandwich through the bars.

“Sounds like it,” he said sarcastically, ripping into the sandwich and continuing to speak through his mouthful of food. “You need to get a little better at espionage if you’re going to do things like this.”

Rhona stood quietly, racking her brain for a response.

“Relax,” he said in between huge bites, his mouth full enough that the words came out garbled. “If anything, I’m relieved to see the Iron Empire has people working against them from the inside.”

“I am not—” Rhona stuttered.

“Right.” The Corisian winked.

Rhona felt the urge to grab his head and slam it against the bars of his cell. She took a deep breath, and then another. Injuring him would only cause questions to be asked; it would do her mission more harm than good.

“Have a good life, Corisian. As long as it may last,” Rhona said before continuing down the hallway to the final cell, where she knew the witch was.

As she walked down the hallway she shook her head, lost in thought. Rhona couldn’t understand why the Corisian insisted that she was working against the Iron Empire. Everything she did was for the safety of the empire and the people within it, and sometimes that meant asking important questions. It didn’t make her a turncoat.

Rhona reached a cell marginally larger than the others andwith an actual bed in the corner, a desk wedged in along the far wall. The bare minimum of comfort for someone who would be imprisoned until they died.

“Rhona Mayhew,” the witch said as she turned toward the bars, still sitting at her desk.

Rhona hadn’t seen this woman since the day she and Commander Hugo had captured her. It was early in the Iron Empire’s reign, and Commander Hugo’s regiment had been sent out to cull the witches of Astra, with the specific guidelines that witches with truth sense should be spared for the Iron Empire’s purposes—to be used against their own kind.

Rhona had been a new knight under Commander Hugo’s wing. She remembered admiring him so greatly during that time, a true paragon of the Iron Empire’s ways and an unparalleled witch hunter. They’d found this woman, Esther, in the capital as they had prepared to leave the city. Commander Hugo had simply had a feeling, a sense that this woman had something strange about her. Rhona remembered escorting her back to the castle to be tested, and after she’d been confirmed as a truth-sense witch, she’d never seen her again. But Rhona recalled what she’d said to her as she rode with the woman to the castle, Esther bound and unable to move.

“You will all regret killing us when a greater power comes, and you can do nothing but wish for divine intervention. You are killing the gifts Astra has given us each time you execute a witch.”

The words rang in Rhona’s head as she looked at one of the last truth-sense witches in Astra. Her time in prison had aged her, and she was covered in dirt. Did they let her bathe? Rhona understood these prisoners were enemies of the Iron Empire but did they not deserve to live cleanly, at least?

“Esther.” Rhona nodded sharply.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Esther asked, her voice ragged and tired.

“I’m asking the questions today, witch,” Rhona said. She wasn’t about to be analyzed by a truth-sense witch.

“That is a shame,” Esther replied, hazel eyes sparkling.

“Tell me what you learned when you spoke to the Corisian.” Rhona leaned into the bars against the woman’s enclosure.