Henna of the Wire

April Character Interview

Patricia Parrington ~ April 22, 2026

Hello my lovely readers and fellow book-lovers! For those of you new here, I, your tea-loving host Patricia Parrington, have the pleasure of interviewing characters from books all over the world.

Today, Henna of the Wire is here with us from the adult grimdark fantasy Blades Forged by P.J. Ashton. P.J. writes grimdark fantasy about soldiers, survivors, and the hard choices that make heroes look suspiciously like villains.

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Meet Henna

Welcome to Fable Features!

[Patricia adjusts some checkered pillows and settles back against the cushions of the orange suede couch. She gestures at a plate of cookies on the coffee table.]

Help yourself! I’m excited to get to know you. So where are you from?

[Henna drops onto the couch. She eyes the biscuits on the plate, glances around, then pockets two before eating a third.]

City by the docks. Whole place smelled like smoke an’ fish.

[She shrugs.]

Me pa worked a smoke’ouse till cards took ’is brains. Owed too much. Debt collectors gave ’im a choice—debtor’s gaol or sellin’ me.

[She bites the biscuit.]

Turns out ’e weren’t fond o’ gaol.

[Henna flashes a crooked grin.]

Can’t blame ’im, really. Why suffer yerself when someone else’ll do it for yer? Didn’t stay where they put me, though. Broke out, learned to lift purses, then safes.

I suppose that is a hard position to be in. I’m glad you were able to break out, though.

[Henna leans forward.]

Best job I ever pulled? Winter’old Countin’ ’ouse. Walked in like I owned the place, walked out with a thousand sovereigns in a sack. Turns out the Empire gets right cross about that sort o’ thing.

[She rolls her eyes.]

Got caught. Ended up on a slave cart ’eaded for the pits. Coal, bodies, whatever needed diggin’. That’s where Wolf found me.

[Her grin comes back.]

’E cut the chains. ’Anded me a knife. Best job offer I ever got.’

[Patricia’s green eyes widen.]

Whoa, what a hard life. But that’s amazing you picked up those skills and were able to escape! You mentioned someone named Wolf. Tell me more about him! Is he a close friend now? What’s he like?

[Henna snorts, thinks about it a moment.]

Quiet sort. Don’t shout, don’t brag.

[She gives a small shrug.]

Most men brag about courage. Wolf just decides what needs doin’ an’ walks straight at it.

[Her mouth curls slightly.]

Blokes follow men like that. Don’t ’urt that ’e’s usually right.

I would follow someone like that too. It’s rare to find good, courageous leaders like that.

Back to you, what’s your favorite color?

[Henna tilts her head at the question like it’s the strangest thing she’s heard all day.]

Red. Always liked red. ’Onest color, innit? Don’t pretend to be nothin’ else.

[She gestures with the half-eaten biscuit.]

Red means someone’s tellin’ the truth. All the lies stop once it starts runnin’. ’Ad a bloke once swear blind ’e never crossed me. Big fella.

[She wipes crumbs off her trousers.]

Couple seconds later red were all over the tavern floor. Funny thing—soon as the red showed up, ’e got real ’onest.

[Henna shrugs.]

So yeah. Red.

[Patricia nods.] 

Red does seem to be an honest color.

What are you passionate about? What fires you up?

[Henna finishes the biscuit, then eyes the room like she’s searching for something more interesting.]

Any Saint Ginny’s lurkin’ about?

[she asks, peering toward the sideboard.]

Best drop in the Empire.

[She leans back into the couch.]

Passion, yeah?

[Henna scratches the side of her nose, thinking.]

Freedom, mostly. Nothin’ fancy about it. Just wakin’ up in the mornin’ an’ knowin’ nobody owns yer.

[She taps a knuckle on the armrest.]

Spent a bit o’ time where that weren’t the case. Makes a girl appreciate the small things. Also quite fond o’ takin’ down men who think they can do what they like an’ never answer for it.

[She shrugs like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.]

Funny how fired up that makes me.

[Henna glances back toward the drinks cabinet again.]

Still though,

[she says, hopeful,]

if there’s Saint Ginny’s, we should probably sort that first.

[Patricia chuckles.]

Sorry, no Saint Ginny’s. I do have tea, though! Leftovers from a party. Good blends.

[Henna sighs.]

Shame.

[She squints at the kettle.]

Got any black?

I do!

[Patricia approaches the kettle and steeps some black tea. Once ready, she returns and hands the mug to Henna.]

I can tell you value freedom quite a bit. Do you ever try to help out others who are in the position you used to be? Those enslaved to others?

[She shrugs.]

Sometimes. Mudline runs into slave wagons now an’ then. World’s messy though. Ain’t always an ’appy story.

What’s a lie you’ve had to combat?

That some people deserve what’s done to ’em.

[She leans back, stretching her legs out.]

Funny lie, that. Blokes love it. Makes life easier, see. Girl gets robbed, beaten, sold, used—well, must’ve done somethin’ to earn it, right? Truth is, that ain’t about justice. It’s about power. Someone stronger takin’ what they fancy an’ callin’ it the natural order.

[She shrugs.]

I don’t buy that lie anymore.

[A faint grin returns.]

Not since I started introducin’ those sorts to the sharp end o’ things.

You’re right, that isn’t justice. That’s someone abusing their power. I’m glad you’re standing up to those who are hurting others!

[Patricia tilts her head, thinking.]

Speaking of power, if you had to choose between super strength or super speed, which would you choose?

[Henna snorts.]

Speed. Big lads love talkin’ about strength. Poundin’ chests, flexin’ arms, all that nonsense.

[She waves the idea away.]

Truth is, the quicker one wins most fights. Strength’s no use if someone quick’s already nicked yer purse an’ slipped a knife between yer ribs. Strength just means it takes longer to bleed out.

That’s a good point!

Ooh, I like this next question. What’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received?

Nicest gift?

[She glances around the room, lowers her voice a touch.]

Don’t go writin’ this part down, yeah?

[She points a warning finger.]

The Mudline, I reckon. Wolf, Vekk, Jaz . . . even Mirelle.

[She shifts in the chair.]

First lot o’ people who ever looked at me an’ didn’t see somethin’ to sell or break. That sort o’ thing sticks with a girl.

[Henna scratches her nose, suddenly aware she’s said more than she meant to.]

Branwyn too, I s’pose,

[she mutters.]

Though she looks at me sometimes like she’s eyin’ up a lamb chop.

[She leans forward sharply.]

Now listen close—if yer print that soft crap, I’ll deny every word an’ come back for yer.

[Patricia nods, eyes serious.]

[Henna clears her throat.]

Actual gift? Me sabre.

[She pats the hilt at her hip.]

Weren’t a gift though. Nicked it off an Aslow duke after . . .

[She shrugs.]

Nice steel. Good balance.

[Another grin spreads across her face.]

That counts, don’t it?

[Patricia grins as well.]

Absolutely! He just didn’t realize he was giving it away that day.

Sounds like you do a lot of fighting and dangerous-type work, so that makes me curious: Do you believe in the afterlife?

[She snorts.]

Dunno. Never been dead long enough to check. Priests like sayin’ there’s somethin’ waitin’.

[Henna shrugs.]

Maybe there is. Maybe there ain’t. Seen plenty o’ blokes swear they’d meet their mates again once they crossed over. Funny thing is, most o’ ’em were beggin’ not to go when the moment came. If there is an afterlife, I reckon it’s just another tavern somewhere. Loud, crowded, smellin’ like ale.’

[She taps the armrest.]

Wolf an’ the others would end up there. Vekk preachin’ at the bar. Jaz nickin’ someone’s purse.

[Henna shrugs again.]

If I end up there, we’ll make the place lively.

[Patricia smirks.]

I’m sure you would make the place lively. Have you ever been in a near-death situation?

[Henna laughs and starts counting on her fingers.]

Ambush outside Redmere. Siege at Black ’Ill. That bridge that come down while we were still on it.

[She gives up counting.]

Mudline gets the filthy jobs. Behind lines. Infiltration. Jobs no sensible sod would take.

[Henna shrugs.]

If it looks impossible, someone ’igher up decides it’s our problem.

[Her grin sharpens.]

They keep tryin’ to get rid o’ us. Funny thing though. We keep comin’ back.

And coming back stronger too, sounds like!

[Patricia chuckles.]

What’s something you would have a super hard time turning down if it were offered to you?

[Henna pushes herself up off the couch before answering. She prowls a few steps across the room, fingers trailing along the back of a chair, eyes flicking to the door.]

Somethin’ I can’t turn down?’

[She scratches the side of her nose, quiet for a moment.]

Someone who’s done wrong an’ thinks they got away with it. That sort o’ offer’s hard to ignore.

[She moves to the window, glances out.]

Blokes like that turn up from time to time. Sometimes they even look familiar.

[She taps the glass with a knuckle.]

Other thing I can’t say no to?

[Henna glances back over her shoulder.]

Wolf askin’.

[She immediately waves it off.]

Don’t go writin’ that soft crap down.

[She pushes off the window.]

But yeah. Those two. Reckon I’d struggle to refuse either.

I like that answer. And don’t worry—I won’t tell Wolf.

[Patricia winks.]

Thank you so much for coming out here today! It was nice getting to know you. I hope you take out many more evil doers.

End of interview.

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Want to Read More?

Henna’s author, P.J. Ashton, can be found on X/Twitter, Facebook, and Substack. Blades Forged can be purchased here.

Cover art by Tony O'Donnell.

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See Ya Next Time

Aaand that's all the time we have today. Thank you, readers, for coming. And thank you, Henna, for letting us get to know you! See y'all next time.

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