Thus, she couldn’t get a lock on how many there were.

One hundred?

Two?

“We are ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Torches?”

“Yes.”

Torches?

Did they think they would burn The Enchantments?

Did they think they could even breach them?

They could not.

Not even with her, for she would not open them, even upon threat of the certain death.

And they might have bound her hands, her mouth, and weakened her focus so she could not cast, but they could not steal her magic.

“The last Nadirii patrol?”

“Moved out of this area six hours ago.”

“They’ll be quite far by now. Send the order. Men in positions.”

“Yes, sir.”

Melisse searched the area as best she could from where she lay with only waning light to see by in hopes to observe, well…anything.

She had not seen Seph since he’d lured her to that place.

Though she’d thought often of his hands.

How had he lost his hands?

And if it was this faction who took them, why was he still allied with them?

She could not think on that now, nor should she have thought of it then.

Ophelia had always told her, mind the curiosity of a cat. Cats were agile and limber. The scrapes they could escape were vast.

People were not the same.

She should have listened to her queen.

Or at least brought backup.

She should also have listened to Rebecca, who told her Fern of the Great Coven had sensed bad omens for Melisse.

So intent was she on the safety of the prophesied, she did not dwell on her own.

She could not think on this either.

Melisse attempted to focus on clearing her mind so she could endeavor a spell to loosen her binds. Or communicate with the veil to send a warning, no matter how weak. Those in treehomes close to this location, and the patrol, even six hours away, might sense it and come to her aid.

But…

What did they think they could achieve?

This was no small operation.

One, two hundred men?

On a fool’s errand of violating The Enchantments?

“Men are in position, sir.”

Damn it, she’d lost focus.

She closed her eyes, sought the veil.

And lost her concentration at the tone of voice of the leader.

“Excellent,” he whispered, sounding nearly feverish with anticipation.

Hundreds of years, The Enchantments had never been breached.

Why did he sound so…certain?

She felt movement close and she ignored the pain in her shoulder as she twisted to her back to better her position so she could put her heels in the turf and push away.

Or kick out.

But she stopped dead when she saw him, the leader, a priest she had not, before her capture, met.

They called him Nath, G’Nath, which meant his born name was probably Nathan.

He was tall, likely in the middle of his third decade on earth.