“Are you suggesting overthrowing the crown?” a younger man asked, paling. “We’ll be traitors. They’ll have our necks!”
His companion smacked his shoulder. I realized with a start that he was Patrick, the stagehand who had bumped into me. “We’re already halfway to treason,” Patrick said, sneering. “Besides, it’s not like the king has a particular aversion to traitors. Look who he married his son off to!”
Another murmur of agreement rose.
“A traitoranda witch.”
“She must have enchanted them to her will.”
Dominic stamped his boot. “Silence!” The crate wobbled dangerously beneath him. “Lady Narcissa is innocent in all this. She is merely misguided. I have strong suspicions she is not a witch at all. This has all been a ruse to distract us, to convince us that the royals are actually taking action.”
The blacksmith beside Flannery bellowed a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re smitten with the witch princess.”
“Narcissa was promised to me once,” Dominic said haughtily. “I know her character best, not to mention whether she is a witch or not.”
I clenched my fists. Who did he think he was, brazenly claiming to understand me when we hadn’t interacted in half a decade? Rage simmered beneath my skin. He was a despicable man, presumptuous and brash and too ignorant to know it.
The same woman from before groaned. “If you’re so sure she isn’t a witch, then how did she single-handedly douse the fire in Vandil?”
Dominic faltered. “An exaggeration, no doubt,” he said. “Besides, the...the fire was started by a rogue farmer who heeded no caution!”
A few snickers sounded.
“You should be grateful. The whole situation made your Lady Narcissa look like a saint,” the woman jeered. “And look at that farmer now. She’s not coming to these meetings anymore.”
The crowd’s muttering grew louder until Dominic was completely at a loss. Maddox and Flannery exchanged glances.
It was prime time to go while the group was distracted. Besides, it was clear this was not a usual meeting. The “mistress” was missing.
“And what of the mistress’s secret weapon?” someone shouted over the rabble. The three of us paused.
Dominic straightened up. “That is going according to plan. She’s taking it for a test run.”
“How come we aren’t allowed to know?” the blacksmith demanded. “How come only you do?”
The general’s son smiled smugly. “Seeing as none of your ideas have worked, the mistress has decided to execute her own plan. You will find out once it is implemented.”
“You’re lying,” the woman spat. “The mistress always informs us of our next steps.”
Dominic raised a brow. “Careful, now. Remember that you swore allegiance to the people, not to a witch.”
Maddox tugged on my arm. I let him pull me away from the muttering crowd, the three of us slipping back into the darkness of the other tunnels. My mind spun. This mistress was a witch, leading anti-witch rioters?
We retraced our steps and eventually returned to the opera house, weary and dazed.
Flannery let go of a breath. “Well. Seems like we have a lot to report.”
