The vord Queen lifted her hands and slowly drew up her hood. Then she resettled her cloak around her though Invidia knew perfectly well that she was all but unaffected by temperature. The vord didn’t move for several moments—then, abruptly, she let out a hiss and turned, bounding into the air and summoning up a gale of wind to bear her aloft, streaking toward the little steadholt.

Invidia called upon her furies to race after the Queen and caught up to her by the time they had reached the steadholt. They descended together, landing in the central yard. The Queen streaked toward one of the homes, smashed the door to splinters, and darted inside.

Invidia braced herself, her stomach twisting in agonized anticipation. She wished those poor holders no ill—but she could do nothing to save them from the Queen’s wrath.

Crashing sounds came from inside the house. Then a wall exploded outward, and the Queen smashed her way into the cottage next door. Again came the sounds of furious destruction. Then the Queen smashed her way into the next cottage. And the next. And the next, moving so swiftly that there was no time for screams.

Invidia drew a deep breath. Then, deliberately, she forced herself to walk to the first house—the one with the little family they had visited weeks before. Invidia could have killed the Queen earlier that evening. If she had, those holders might not have died. The least she could do for them was force herself to look upon what she had wrought by her inaction.

Stones crunched beneath the chitin armoring her feet as she approached, smelling the woodsmoke of the makeshift family’s fire. She steeled herself for a moment against what she would see, then stepped through the front door.

The kitchen table was smashed. Pots were strewn everywhere. Broken dishes littered the floor. Two windows had been shattered.

And the little house was empty.

Invidia stared in incomprehension for a moment. Then, in dawning realization, she rushed back out the door and went to the next house.

As empty as the first.

She left the cottage and studied the ground. The stones that crunched beneath her feet were not stones. They were the bodies of hundreds of the vord hornets, their stingers still extended in death, shattered, bent, and twisted.

The vord Queen let out a furious wail, and redoubled sounds of destruction came from inside another home. Within seconds, the place simply collapsed in on itself, and the Queen emerged from it, her alien eyes strange in her furious features, tossing aside a crossbeam as thick as her thigh and several hundred pounds of stone with a flick of one arm.

“Tricked,” hissed the Queen. “Tricked. While I listened to his words, he took my steadholt away from me!”