We continue this way for hours until the final count of injured is closer to sixty. Thankfully, the only death is the one child, though any death is catastrophic in my eyes. After we’ve combed every building for survivors, Prince Hawthorne and I return to the makeshift infirmary, helping where we can.

A man across the field starts yelling frantically. “You,” he roars. “You’re one of them! You stabbed my wife.”

I’m there in an instant, willing the grass to grow and wrap around the suspect. The screaming man breaks into sobs while a healer comforts him. Prince Hawthorne and Carex appear at my side, Carex’s sword drawn and the Prince’s hands lit up with light, though Hawthorne looks infinitely more at ease than Carex.

“Are you part of the Sons and Daughters rebel group?” Carex demands. I don’t expect the accused to admit to it, but he surprises me.

“I am,” he spits. “I came here to give you a message.”

Fearing he’ll hurt the group of injured, I aerstep the rebel, Carex, Prince Hawthorne and myself to the other side of the village with no warning. They all look surprised when we reappear under a massive oak tree.

“Witch,” the rebel hisses. I only pin his arms to his side with ivy, tying him to the tree, today’s events giving me little patience for this nonsense.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m a Witch, you hate my rule, you’re going to make me suffer. I’ve heard it all. What’s your message, rebel?” I ask, the cold fury in my voice palpable.

“This attack is only the beginning, Witch Queen. Any village, any fae or human, who supports you, or who receives aid from you, will pay,” he warns.

I was already on the edge of losing control, my emotions a swirling landscape of fury, anguish, and hopelessness. This admission sends me into a storm of rage, all other emotions eclipsed by my need to punish. Rational thought leaving me, I pierce one of his eyes with a small tree branch, and he screams, trying to slump to the ground, but the ivy keeps him upright. Air wraps around his throat, squeezing as if hands were choking him. At the same time, thin twigs creep into his ears and up his nose.

“Tell me what you have planned, and I’ll consider killing you quickly,” I say, forced boredom in my voice, though internally I’m screaming.

“I won’t tell you anything,” he murmurs, despite the blood running down his face.