Even filthy, disgraced, and completely subjugated, Lorna had found it so easy to smirk at Talmot while he raged at her during the battle. Satisfaction still washed over her at the memory as she lay on the lumpy cot in the witch's quarters of Fort Char.
The women there, only a few aged and hardened battle witches, paid her no mind. Lorna was grateful. She didn't want to explain to anyone the reason for her state of grubbiness. An older witch had quietly handed her a bar of soap and a change of clothing. The black robes belonging to the women who served on the Ibudali army's frontlines were comfortable and clean. Sadly, they did little for her figure.
Lorna sighed and turned over in the bed. What she looked like didn't matter anymore. For years she had enjoyed the loose leash provided by her contract as one of the most powerful witches in Ibudal, treated with a certain level of indifference was typical for a woman of her station.
