“I—” Lyrra began to protest. She pressed her lips together, then took a deep breath and nodded. “All right. Yes, you’re right. If the Bard and the Muse can’t relay messages, no one can. Gwenn, Gwynith, and Rhyann can help me with that—and with keeping a record of any wounded who may be brought here.”

Ashk walked over to her horse. As she swung into the saddle, she found comfort in the feel of a full quiver of arrows resting against her back. “Let’s ride.”

“The men are ready, Master Adolfo,” the guard captain said.

“You understand your orders?” Adolfo asked as he sipped his wine. No sign of disapproval that he took wine so early in the morning. Not today. Never again.

“Yes, Master. One arm of the army will seize the village. The other arm will take possession of that low rise, set up the catapults, and crush the Fae and the other witch-lovers when they move against it.”

“Let it rain fire.”

“Yes, Master.”

“But I must have some prisoners,” Adolfo said firmly. “Males.” He waited until the captain nodded. “You may tell the men one other thing. Today I will give fifty gold coins to every man who kills a witch.”

“Fifty!” With effort, the guard captain regained his professional stance. “They’ll kill every female they encounter in an effort to claim the reward.”

Adolfo smiled. “Yes, they probably will. But the foul creatures I want are easy enough to identify. Most of them wear an ornament hidden beneath their clothing. A five-pointed star within a circle. Any man who brings me one of those ornaments—and the tongue of the bitch who wore it—will receive the gold.”

He saw a glint of greed in the captain’s eyes and did not disapprove of it.

“I’ll tell the men,” the captain said.

Tell the other captains, Adolfo amended silently. “Go on, then.”

“We’ll have the Old Place cleansed by nightfall,” the captain promised.

“A pretty thought,” Adolfo murmured as he watched the man leave with more haste than dignity. He drained his wine glass and set it aside. “A very pretty thought.”

Breanna walked toward Nuala’s grave, Keely a few steps ahead of her. Keely, still grieving and displaying an unshakable stubbornness, had insisted on walking to the grave that morning. The men who stood the last watch until dawn had already left since it was safe to leave the grave unattended in daylight. Clay, Rory, and Falco had agreed to ride into the village for supplies they’d run short of with so many people to feed. Fiona and some of the other women threw themselves into household chores with grim single-mindedness, but work hadn’t provided solace for Nuala’s daughter or granddaughter. So the two of them walked to the grave in order to touch the earth, feel the air.