Ophelia moved to her horse.

Agnes mounted hers.

And they rode.

The stallion’s mare was overly protective of him.

This was unsurprising.

She whinnied her warning angrily, butting under his neck to get in front of him and approaching hostilely as the once-proud stallion, shorn of his horn, apprehensively retreated.

Ophelia’s blood boiled.

“Bring him to me,” she bit, dismounting.

Her own mare shifted back as Ophelia stood where she dropped, not daring to approach either animal.

Enough had been done to them at human hands. They’d never trust another.

They would know they were avenged.

But they would never trust another.

She wondered briefly why they left The Enchantments at all.

She then made note to speak to her witches who spoke to the animals.

They needed to be warned about further wanderings.

When her sisters brought him, she saw he was as she’d ordered him to be.

The priest of The Rising who had perpetrated this atrocity was paralyzed by Nadirii magic, all but his voice, which was muted in its pleas and curses by a gag.

He was thus tossed like a doll to the ground before Ophelia, landing on his back.

At this, the mare nickered, and both creatures braced as if to bolt.

But Ophelia spoke soothingly.

“If I could heal you, I would. If I could give you back your sacred horn, your magic, I would perish from the earth myself to offer these returned to you. But I cannot.”

The unicorns watched her cautiously.

“I can only avenge you, and after, use your magic for good.”

The creatures continued to stare at her.

Ophelia did not delay.

She turned to Julia, who handed her the sacred piece, the magnificent horn that had been taken from the stallion.

It had, as she’d ordered, been cleansed of Melisse’s blood.

Ophelia then took her position, standing over the villain, one foot to each side.

She looked down at him.

He stared up at her with wide, terror-filled eyes, his lips moving around the gag.

“You have achieved your aim. You lie upon the soil of The Enchantments,” she shared with him. “And you die knowing you made your way onto that soil, but you did not make The Enchantments burn. You also die knowing the fullness of the depths of your failure. For you lived to bow others to your beliefs, and your death will serve only to strengthen the protections of a sisterhood.”

She wished to give him time to consider that.

But she did not take that time.

For the unicorns, this must be done.

And she herself had things to do.

Thus, Ophelia lifted the horn up high above her head and felt the twirl of magic coil up her spine.

“Nadirii,” she intoned, “means ‘oppressed’ in the old tongue. Nadirii,” she continued, “means ‘sisterhood’ in the ancient tongue. You die by the hand of a Nadirii and this means you die by the hands of all the sisterhood. And you die tonight due to your treachery against what we hold hallowed. Nature. Magic. Both in one. Both in the majestic unicorn.”