The Necromancer's Wife (Remastered)
Chapter 3: The Witch Queen

Crashes, the sound of slamming bars, and a string of colorful, but vulgar, curses echoed throughout Grand Chokmah Penitentiary. Locked away in a private cell in the most secure section of the prison was The Witch Queen.

Immediately following the fierce battle with the Necromancer, Elizabeth was taken into custody by the Malkuth Military, and after a fon slot seal was cast upon her, she was transported to the prison.

Grand Chokmah Penitentiary was a looming stone megalith on a lone island near the capital, in the shadow of the Military Headquarters. It housed some of the most vile and disgusting criminals on the planet; murderers, traitors, and madmen. One would rather die than be sent to such an awful place; for there was no way for one to escape.
Once you were in, you never came out.

For the last two days, Elizabeth had been in her cell; a cold, dark and filthy corner of the structure roughly ten feet in diameter. But she was far from a “model” prisoner. The last forty-eight hours had been spent tormenting guards, harassing other prisoners, kicking the walls and bars and shouting obscenities that would make even a sailor blush.
“Let me out of here!” Elizabeth bellowed. “I didn’t do a damn thing wrong!” She kicked the bars of her cell for the umpteenth time. “How the hell was I supposed to know the skirt-chasing wino that assaulted me was the Emperor?!”

Elizabeth started to pace once again. “This is just great.” She complained out loud. “I get sexually harassed and because I try to defend myself,” She motioned to herself, “I’m the one who gets thrown in prison?”

“Where’s the justice in that?”

But what angered her the most was the fon slot seal. How dare the Necromancer order one on her?! Now she had no access to her abilities and it would be months until the seal could be removed. Not only had he defeated her, he shamed her as well.

She felt the tears of anger and hatred well up into her eyes, cursing her incompetence. Her ancestors must be rolling in their graves. “Well, Elizabeth, here you are, being treated like a common criminal.”

She should have known she would never have had a chance at besting the Necromancer.

Jade Curtiss was simply too powerful.

Elizabeth thought through the entire battle once again. She remembered the kick she delivered to his back. Well, She thought, Hopefully I got one cheap shot out of him.

But despite herself getting badly injured and absolutely humiliated, she couldn’t help feeling awed by his might and skill. She had never met a fonist like him. All the stories and rumors that abounded about him fell far short of the reality.
“Dammit!”

She whirled around and forced her heel into the wall of her cell, imagining it was his throat. . .

Jade slowly made his way up the long stairs that lead to the top floor of Grand Chokmah Penitentiary. It housed the Maximum Security Wing and his intended destination.

The cell of The Witch Queen.

Two days had passed since their little “altercation” in the streets of the capital, and he was still feeling the effects of it. The injury to his back left him in excruciating agony and almost bedridden for the last two days. When her heel caught the base of his spine, it pierced the skin, almost to the bone. It tore through dozens of layers of skin, muscle, and subcutaneous fat. It required multiple stitches and would leave him with a nasty looking scar.

The area around it was bruised and tender and the sensation of his uniform brushing against it as he walked caused him to cringe. It had been many years since anyone had been able to wound him; not since his first battle at Rotelro that left him with a broken arm. But this injury hurt far worse than his arm ever did.

As for the capital; Grand Chokmah was in an state of fear and panic. Once word of Elizabeth’s possible identity, that of a real and true Witch, the people, fearful for their lives, locked themselves in their homes or flocked to temples and churches. Witches, or rather “Eighth Fonists”, were regarded as the embodiment of all that was evil and wrong in the world. Throughout history, whenever something terrible happened; plague, drought, war; it was always blamed on the Eight Fonists. In the ensuing mass hysteria, every suspected Witch was round up and executed without trial. If one wanted to remove a rival or enemy, all they had to do was accuse them of Witchcraft.

And they would be swiftly removed. . .

Jade reached the seventh floor of the prison, thankful his climb was over. His injury made the ascension of several hundred steps difficult; each step up sent stabbing pain up his back; and he wasn’t looking forward to the trip down.     

Like all the prison’s floors, the Maximum Security Wing was patrolled by about a dozen guards. Every level had a Guard’s Station that consisted of a single desk and two rooms that could be used for interrogation. The floor’s logbook, prison registry and cell keys were all housed there. Anyone that wanted access to a prisoner was required to check in upon arrival and departure. Jade found two guards manning the area. One of them, Corporal Morgan, sat massaging his temples, while the other, Private Mondragon, raised a silver flask to his lips.

Jade observed them for a few moments, his eyebrow raised. They were both very pale looking, and Mondragon’s hand with the flask trembled violently. Drinking while on duty was forbidden, but the look of sheer exhaustion on his face showed that he needed it desperately.

The two guards immediately straightened and composed themselves when they saw Jade approach them. “You do realize, Private Mondragon,” The Necromancer began, opening the prison registry, “That drinking while on duty is an offense punishable by demotion and/or expulsion from the military?” Jade’s voice was icy cold and devoid of emotion. He looked up at the now red-cheeked soldier. “I don’t think your father would be too pleased if his son received a dishonorable discharge over something so trivial.”

Private Mondragon’s father was a retired Lieutenant General and former head of the Intelligence Division. He was one of the most decorated soldiers in the Imperial Forces, and Jade himself had trained under him back in his early days with the military, holding him in the highest regard.

Jade owed much to Lieutenant General Mondragon. He was close friends with his adoptive father, the late General Curtiss. Mondragon took the newly adopted son under his wing during Jade’s years at the Military Academy, and he knew he would have never have risen through the ranks as quickly as he did without the kind old man.

“N-n-no, Sir,” Private Mondragon stuttered, mortified to be under the frightening scrutiny of the Necromancer. “Forgive me, Sir.” He bowed his head. “It‘s just that one of the new prisoners. . .” He trailed off. “It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Jade replied. “Because I would be more than delighted to sign your discharge papers.” He flipped through the registry until he came to the section reserved for the prisoners with last names that began with the letter ‘L’. Only one person in the entire facility was listed in that section.
Prisoner #731982: Elizabeth LeFey.

Jade signed his name beside The Witch Queen’s and closed the book. “I need the keys to the cell of Prisoner 731982.” At the mention of the seventh floor’s only female prisoner, the two soldier’s faces paled even further.

“E-E-Elizabeth LeFey, Sir?” Morgan asked nervously. Jade looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Corporal. Is something wrong?” Morgan shook his head furiously.

“No, Sir!” He said hastily. Morgan quickly retrieved the key; made of heavy wrought iron, and handed it to Jade.

“I’ll also need you to accompany me.” He continued, taking the key. “She will most likely require restraints until we get to the interrogation room.” Morgan gulped.

“I respectfully decline, Colonel.” Jade’s eyes narrowed.

“That wasn’t a request, Corporal; but an order.” Morgan began to shake.

Sir, please, Sir; don’t make me go near her!” He begged. “That woman is insane! I have never seen anyone with a temper like hers! She’s a demon; a monster. . . !”
“And Lorelei save us, she’s a Witch!”

Jade let out a frustrated sigh. Grand Chokmah’s hysteria had even permeated the walls of the prison. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the terrified guard; almost near fainting from his fear. But it also amused Jade greatly.

He thought he was the only one that could strike such terror into the heart of a soldier.

“Control yourself, Corporal Morgan.” Jade began. “And behave like a soldier.” He turned to Mondragon. “You’ll both accompany me to LeFey’s cell.”

Jade walked down the numerous rows of prison cells, the two soldiers in tow. Inside the dark, dirty cells were prisoner after prisoner. Rodents and insects scrounging for crumbs scattered in droves as he passed. A suffocating cloud of misery, despair and hopelessness hung over the prison’s occupants, all praying for death instead of facing another moment in this living hell.

The Necromancer shook his head at the hideous conditions of the prison. As he passed, prisoners reached out from behind the bars, grasping for his ankles, begging for mercy. Others wailed in physical and emotional agony. Many of the inmates had lost their minds, their spirits destroyed by the stone walls and iron bars that forever ensnared them.

This was no place for a lady and Jade regretted condemning Elizabeth to such a desolate place. His body heated at the thought of seeing her again, and once again Jade felt the need to loosen his collar; despite the freezing temperatures of his surroundings. And once they reached the interrogation room, he and Elizabeth would be completely alone and unsupervised. . .

All alone, Jade. . . The voice, the same one from before, whispered to him. You’ll be completely alone with Elizabeth. If you play your cards right. . . you could easily seduce her. . .

Jade quickly suppressed the erotic images that bombarded his mind; feeling his cheeks grow hot. Ever since he last saw her, his brain had been a tumultuous whirl of arousing and sexually explicit fantasies involving himself and The Witch Queen.

“You call this food?!”

Jade’s thoughts were broken by the sound of the familiar female voice and caught sight of The Witch Queen’s cell. Outside stood a single guard, probably serving her the standard prison meal; watered down soup and crusty bread. “You can take this crap and shove it up your blow hole!”

The Necromancer watched as the soup came flying through the bars, completely soaking the guard. Moments later, the metal bowl followed suit; hitting the guard square in the forehead. He fell back against the wall, a lump already starting to form where the bowl had hit him.

The guard stumbled to his feet, half-dazed from the force of the blow that struck his head. Now Jade realized why Morgan was so afraid of Elizabeth. And if she was abusing a simple guard; imagine the reception she had in store for him. He took a deep breath as he approached her cell.
Hell truly do hath no fury like a woman scorned. . .