destruction. The control Prythian and I thought we had over them was nothing but an illusion, a blind to conceal their true purpose.
“Both of them disappeared several years ago. Most of us hoped they had died. Not so. I’ve learned from some brave Brothers and Sisters who are now living in the Kaeleer Territory called Little Terreille that both Yaslana and Sadi are in the Shadow Realm, where the High Lord has been living under the guise of being the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. The viper’s children have returned to the nest.
“There’s more. The High Lord has an unhealthy influence over most of the Territory Queens in Kaeleer, as well as absolute control over a young woman who is the strongest witch in all the Realms. With her strength behind him, he will overwhelm us-unless we strike first. We have no choice, my Brothers and Sisters. If we don’t crush the High Lord and everyone in his service, the cruelty I have done as his instrument will seem like a child’s game in comparison.”
Dorothea paused for a moment. “Many of you have friends or loved ones who have fled to Kaeleer in order to escape the violence that has been strangling Terreille. Look at what has happened to many of those who have run straight into the High Lord’s seductive embrace.”
Using Craft, she whipped away the canvas covering the front of the platform. Then she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from gagging as the flies rose from the mutilated corpses.
Screams filled the air. A piercing shriek of grief and rage rose above the other voices. Then another, and another, as the people nearest the platform recognized what was left of a face or recognized a distinctive piece of jewelry.
Using Craft again, Dorothea gently drew the canvas over the bodies. She waited several minutes for the screams to fade to muffled sobs.
“Know this,” she said. “I will use every bit of Craft I have learned, every drop of strength that I have in me to defeat this monster. But if I stand alone, I will surely be defeated. If we stand and fight together, we have a chance to rid ourselves of the High Lord and those who serve him. Many of us won’t survive this fight, but our children-“ Her voice broke. It took her a moment to continue. “But our children will know the freedom we paid so dearly to give them.”
Turning around, she stumbled. Her Steward and Master of the Guard supported her across the platform and down the steps. Tears and a fierce pride filled their eyes as they gently settled her into her open carriage for the short ride back to her mansion. When they tried to go with her, she shook her head.
“Your duties are here,” she said weakly.
“But, Priestess-“ the Master of the Guard started to protest.
“Please,” Dorothea said. “Your strength will serve me better if you remain here.” Calling in a folded piece of paper, she handed it to her Steward. “If these Queens ask to see me, arrange for an audience this afternoon.” She saw the protest in his eyes, but he said nothing.
Her coachman clucked softly to his horses.
Dorothea leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes to hide her glee.
Alexandra Angelline shivered despite the morning sun’s warmth as she waited for Philip Alexander to return from his examination of the torn bodies lying on the wooden platform. She put a warming spell on the heavy wool shawl, knowing it was useless. No outer source of heat was going to thaw the cold inside her.
Vania and Nyselle, the two Province Queens she’d brought with her, had already returned to the inn, along with their escorts. They hadn’t offered to wait with her. A few years ago-a few
But a few weeks ago, someone had sent cryptic messages to the thirty strongest witches in Chaillot- excluding herself and her daughter, Leland-inviting them to take a tour of Briarwood and promising to solve the riddle of what had happened to the young girls in their families who had been admitted to the hospital and then disappeared without a trace. Briarwood, which had been built to heal emotionally disturbed children, had been closed for several years now, ever since that mysterious illness started consuming dozens of men from the aristo families in Beldon Mor, Chaillot’s capital-an illness that had seemed linked to that place.
The witches had arrived on the specified night, and they had learned the secrets and the horrors of Briarwood. Their guide, a demon-dead girl named Rose, showed no mercy as she introduced them to the ghosts. One Priestess found her cousin, who had disappeared when they were children, bricked up inside a wall. A Province Queen recognized what was left of a friend’s daughter.
They saw the gaming rooms. They saw the cubicles that contained the narrow beds. They saw the vegetable garden and the girl with one leg.
Numbed by what they saw, they followed Rose, who smiled at them and told them in precise detail how and why each child had died. She told them about the other demon-dead children who had gone to the Dark Realm to live with the rest of the
One of the men Rose had named was Robert Benedict, Leland’s former husband and an important member of the male council-a council already decimated by that mysterious illness.
When a Healer in the group had asked about the illness, Rose had smiled again, and said, “Briarwood is the pretty poison. There is no cure for Briarwood.”
Alexandra clutched her shawl and kept shivering.
The rage that had swept through Chaillot had torn it apart. Beldon Mor became a battleground. The members of the male council who had not yet died from the illness were viciously executed. After several men from aristo families died of poison, many others fled to inns or one of their clubs because they were terrified to eat or drink anything that might have passed through the hands of the women in their families.
And after the first wave of rage had passed, the witches had turned their fury on her. They didn’t blame her for Briarwood, since it had been built before she had become Queen of Chaillot, but they
They blamed her because Robert Benedict had lived in her house for all those years and had bedded her daughter. If she couldn’t recognize the danger when it sat across from her day after day, how could she protect her people against any other kind of threat?
They blamed her for Robert Benedict and for all the young witches who had died or were broken in Briarwood.
She blamed herself for what happened to Jaenelle, her younger granddaughter. She had allowed that strange, difficult child to be locked away in that place. She hadn’t known Briarwood’s secrets, but if she hadn’t dismissed Jaenelle’s fanciful stories, if she had accepted them as a child’s plea for attention instead of an annoying social problem, Jaenelle never would have been sent to Briarwood. And if she hadn’t dismissed the girl’s hatred for Dr. Carvay, would she have learned the truth sooner?
She didn’t know. And it was too late to find the answers.
Now she had another family problem. Eleven years ago, Wilhelmina Benedict, Robert’s daughter by his first marriage, had run away after claiming that Robert had made a sexual advance. Philip Alexander, Robert’s bastard half brother, had found his niece, but he had refused to say where she was. At the time, Alexandra had been furious with him for keeping Wilhelmina’s location a secret from her. Lately, she had wondered if Philip had had some inkling about what lay beneath Briarwood’s solicitous veneer, especially when it had been his vehemence that had been the final push to close the place.
