Traitor to the Crown by C.C. Finlay

Deborah held the baby to her shoulder and patted her back.
    Proctor leaned forward and pressed his lips against the back of Maggie’s delicate head. She smelled sweet, like milk. She sighed and fell instantly asleep against her mother’s shoulder. “This is a fair approximation of what I always wanted out of life,” he said.
    Deborah looked at him, surprised. “Is it?”
    “I wanted to serve my country, and I’ve done that, more than I ever expected. I wanted a build a prosperous farm, and we’re on the way to that. I wanted to build a new house, and even though Ezra did most of the work, we’ve got a pretty good start on that.” He met her eyes, which were the brightest thing in the room, as if they were only a shade covering the light inside her. “I wanted a beautiful wife and a family.”
    Deborah smiled. “And now you’ve got that too.”
    “No, I’m still hoping that will come around someday—” Her hand jumped up to pinch him again and he flinched, grinning. “Yes, yes, now I’ve got that too.” He leaned over to kiss her. She turned her head to the side, and he kissed her cheek. “That’s been the best part,” he said.
    “You better say that’s the best part,” she said.
    “That’s the best part.”
    She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. They leaned together carefully, protecting Maggie between them. Deborah reached up and held her hand against his cheek. Finally, she sighed and pulled away.
    “That wasn’t a dream,” she said finally.
    He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, trying to brace himself as the world rushed away from him. “No, it wasn’t. Her spirit came to visit us.”
    “To warn us.”
    “I know.”
    “The demon they sent, that’s unlike any magic, good or evil, that I’ve ever witnessed or heard account of,” Deborah said. “And I barely glimpsed it. We’ll have to be more careful than ever. Set up stronger protections, take fewer risks beyond the bounds of The Farm.”
    “That won’t be enough.” He swung his legs off the bed and rested his bare feet on the wide planks of the floor. He leaned, elbows on his knees, and rubbed his face. “It’s no good waiting for them to come find us. I’ve got to go find them.”
    “And kill them?” Deborah asked.
    “If I need to,” Proctor answered.
    “You can’t solve all our problems by killing people.”
    “Maybe—but sometimes it’s a good start.”
    He tried to respect Deborah’s Quaker background and her rejection of violence, so he regretted the words as soon as he said them. He stood and walked over to the closed door. He braced his hands on the jambs and pressed his head against the rough wood.
    “I don’t like what it does to you,” she said. “Every time you hurt someone it takes a little part of you away.”
    “Like a finger?”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    He spun around. “But it’s the truth. I’m a danger to you and to Maggie. That necromancer can use it to turn me against you. As long as he has my finger, he has a trigger on a gun that’s aimed at both of you. We have no idea when it will fire.”
    “It doesn’t have to fire,” Deborah said. “Just because a man owns a gun doesn’t mean he has to use it.”
    “But that decision isn’t up to us,” he said. “And if we sit here and wait and do nothing—”
    “Who said anything about nothing?” Deborah said. “We’ll strengthen our defenses. We’ll find a way to be prepared.”
    “We can’t solve everything with magic, not if all we dois react to them. They create protective charms, so we break the charms. They curse the army, so we break the curse. They send demons for us, so we find a way to defeat the demon. They
attacked us in our home
, despite all our protections.” He felt like his heart would dam his throat and block his words, so he talked faster, pouring the words out. “Sooner or later, they’ll try some magic that gets past us. If we stay here, while they’re out there