Lucinda did not have a chance to reply, one of her team moved out of the keep.

She nodded to Lucinda as she halted by their horses.

But she looked to her queen.

“Fern was held here. And she is here no longer. But we were left a message,” the warrior reported.

“And that is?” Ophelia asked.

“I would magic a mask for the smell, and then it’s best you are shown,” the Nadirii replied.

Ophelia dismounted immediately, saying words to Midsummer that would keep her horse where she was, and she, with Lucinda coming off her steed to follow, moved into the keep.

The smell was such she had to cover her mouth with her hand while casting a quick spell so she would scent lilies, not the ugly stench of death, as the warrior guided them to the stairs.

They went nearly to the top before Ophelia and Lucinda followed her through a door.

All of the women stopped.

The room was part circle, and dead center from its ceiling hung the rotting corpse of a man of means. His rich clothing was in tatters, however, not due to use but abuse. And his pants were about his knees, hanging from his decomposing limbs precariously. Fortunately, his genitals had not been mutilated, but there were drawings in charcoal with arrows pointing to them on the flesh of his thighs and stomach that Ophelia could not decipher due to the level of decay.

The Lord of Kilcree, humiliated, then hung where he had imprisoned a witch.

And along the rounded wall, in large words, also scrawled in charcoal, it said…

We will bear no more your burden.

And it was signed…

Fern’s Army.

And off from that, in smaller words…

What they said.

And that was signed…

The Patra.

And just beyond that…

Extend our greetings to Cass and Ellie.

“Bloody hell,” Ophelia muttered.

Then she closed her eyes.

And heaved a mighty sigh.

101

The Readings

Princess Elena

Bedchamber of the Prince Regent, Sky Citadel, Sky Bay

AIREN

Wearing naught but one of Cass’s undershirts that was fashioned in a thin knit of cotton and had four buttons at the collar that I assumed were there so he could loosen them and get his head through, after procuring my cards, I approached the bed where my prince slept.

Once there, I studied his face in repose and wondered first, if he knew how handsome he was. Second, I wondered what all his beautiful markings meant. And last, if I would ever get him to the point where he did not appear somehow anguished, even in sleep.

On this final thought, I carefully braced a foot on the side slat of the bed, swung my leg around, and landed quite firmly astride his gut.

His eyes shot open, his lips emitted a strained “oof,” and his hands clamped on my hips as his stomach muscles tensed in a divine way in preparation for him to knife up.