When the horse came to a stop, Isabel looked around, then sucked in a breath when she spotted one of the corpses. A woman suspended fifteen feet in the air. Isabel slid from the back of the horse and walked towards it, stopping when she spotted another corpse twenty feet away, hands and feet bound with rope. She looked around and found two more.

‘There are four,’ she said.

Tolly shifted in the saddle. ‘One every hour.’

Isabel pressed a hand to her chest, sure her heart was about to burst through it.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Tatum called to her. ‘Not if there are soldiers coming and going.’

Isabel was staring at the third corpse, a woman whose face was covered by dark hair. She took a few steps closer, eyes narrowing on the swollen ankles and brown boots—brown boots with pointed toes.

A burst of heat shot through Isabel. She clapped a hand over her mouth and fell to her knees.

Blackmane leapt from his horse and ran to her, dropping into a crouch beside her.

‘Are you all right?’

Hot tears streamed down Isabel’s face as she stared up at Yvaine.

Blackmane looked from her to the corpse. It took him a moment to recognise the woman. ‘Oh shit.’ He gestured to Tolly. ‘Cut that one down and bring her with us.’

Tatum loaded his bow and took aim at the rope, slicing through it on the first go.

Tolly caught it before it hit the ground. ‘All right. Let’s go.’

Blackmane pulled Isabel to her feet and led her back to his horse. A moment later, the group cantered away from the tiny graveyard.

‘Where to now?’ Tatum asked.

‘To meet Ita,’ Isabel said, struggling to form words. ‘She needs to see her mother.’

Tatum looked over at the corpse. ‘Well, this just keeps getting better and better.’

‘We’re going to lose light soon,’ Tolly said.

Isabel dropped her head to Blackmane’s back. ‘Then we better ride fast.’

It was not an easy thing to watch Ita’s face light up with joy when Isabel rode into sight, only to dissolve into devastation when she spotted her dead mother draped across Tolly’s horse.

‘Leave us,’ Isabel said before dismounting. ‘Please.’

Tolly laid the corpse on the ground, and the three men led their horses away over to where Thorn stood with his own horse. The four men watched from a distance as Ita gathered her dead mother in her arms and rocked her back and forth. Isabel’s attempts to comfort her were futile.

‘I am so sorry,’ she kept saying over and over, as if she had tied the noose and hung the woman from a tree herself.

‘What happened?’ Thorn asked.

Blackmane handed him the note. The St Clare leader read it, then handed it back.

‘This has to stop,’ he said.

Tolly glanced at him. ‘We have to stop it.’