He wished he could tell her yes. He knelt beside the closest one and put his hand on her forehead, then on the skin over her heart.

“No,” he said. “But there is no going back for them, either.”

She lifted the sword in question, shifting her grip as she did, so that she held it properly.

He held out his hand for the sword, and Brother Wolf spoke aloud. “Please.”

Because Brother Wolf was as tired as Charles, he reverted to speaking through their bond. Let us do this terrible, necessary thing.

“I can do it,” she said, raising her chin.

“I know,” Charles said. “But it will cost me less to give these poor souls the coup de grâce”—he saw her draw in an indignant breath and completed his sentence—“than it will cost me to watch you do it.”

She closed her mouth and gave him a disgruntled look. “That is so sexist it leaves me speechless.”

But she had heard the truth in his statement.

“I know,” he said apologetically, which made her sputter.

“And manipulative,” she said.

He bowed shallowly in acknowledgment. “I am my father’s son.”

She looked around the room and then held the sword out to him. Her eyes glistened wetly in the blue light.

He took the sword, then kissed her. “Thank you.”

It took some time. Charles wasn’t sure that Jonesy’s sword had been necessary to break the spell that held the bodies to a semblance of life, but there was no question that it accomplished the task.

When they found no more bodies, Anna said a quiet prayer.

Then she said, “Do you think they are at peace?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. Their bodies were dead, but he had no idea what the Singer had been doing to them.

Anna had her back to him—and a motion caught his eye. He looked over to see a narrow-faced, sharp-nosed coyote. Coyote.

Bless Mercy, he thought. She’d managed it.

“Yes,” he told Anna. “They are safe now.”

COYOTE WATCHED THEM go. He had not paid much attention to the Marrok’s son, his daughter’s foster brother. He was more interesting than Coyote had thought.

But they were not why he was here.

He trotted into a damp cavern that held a clear, cold pool in its center. He nosed around until he found what he’d been looking for. A small squid-like creature, no bigger than his toenail.

Immortal things were truly difficult to kill.

It tasted like eel.

WHEN ANNA AND Charles emerged from the cave, the rain had stopped, though the chill that lingered in the air had an edge of winter in it. The next rainstorm in these mountains was going to carry snow, Charles thought.

He smelled the witches before they came upon them.

“Is something wrong?” Anna asked.

“Witches,” he told her quietly. “Black. Over by the amphitheater. The lake.”