Anna had gone so far as to openly voice her disbelief—not to the Mistress, of course, but to the other sisters. Anna had even ventured to plead Melisande’s cause with Bellona, the commander of the warrior women who guarded the monastery and who was tasked with the assignment of tracking down Melisande and either dragging her back to stand trial or killing her. Bellona had struck the girl across the face, knocking her to the ground, and then walked off. Anna had seen the terrible pain in the eyes of the warrior woman, who had been Melisande’s lover. The girl had crept away to her cell to weep her bitter tears in solitude. After that, Anna never again spoke Melisande’s name, though she kept it in her heart.

Bellona had gone, disappearing into the night while trying to track down Melisande. Gone to be with her, the Mistress had told them disparagingly. Both of them traitors. There were stories from the other warrior women about how Bellona’s arrows fired at Melisande had always missed their mark—something strange, considering that Bellona’s arrows had never missed before. The warrior women set out to find both of them, and one day they returned with the story that they had located Bellona and Melisande and killed them.

They had not brought back the bodies, however, claiming that they did not deserve the honor of being buried in the homeland both had disgraced. Perhaps because of this or perhaps because the warrior women never spoke about that battle and always looked some other direction whenever anyone brought it up, Anna was convinced they were lying. And she made up a fancy in her heart, a fancy that Bellona and Melisande were alive and together somewhere and that they were happy.

That’s why the eyes troubled Anna so much. She felt the eyes of Melisande upon her as she walked the path that led to the Chamber. It was a feeling, not a seeing. She did not see the ghost. She felt her, felt her concern. She had never experienced this sensation before. She had been High Priestess for a year now, ever since the previous High Priestess had fallen victim to a cancerous growth. She had walked this path every morning for a year, and it was only in the last week or so that she had become aware of the ghosts.

She did not mention the ghosts to any of the other sisters. She knew what they would say—that it was all her imagination. That she was afraid because the Mistress of Dragons was gone—an event that was unprecedented in the lives of the people of Seth. The Mistress was gone, and her parting words to Anna had been more than enough to stir up any number of dread apparitions.