Sorina:

  I scale the fortress walls with my daggers—mostly because the stairs are jammed up by panicking guards—and get a good overview of our carnage.

  Kara did an excellent job, I’ll give her that. The fires don’t lick up to the sky, yet, they burn what they must: the stores. The smell of dried meats and grains and breads and even textiles now waft up to me. The soldiers hurry back and forth with water buckets. Some desperate souls even whack at the fire with the flat of their blades—which would be more comedic if not for my worries of them burning. I don’t want any casualties here. No death is needed: just despair.

  Enough despair for the army to retreat back to Catolica and abandon this position.

  The only reason this raid works as well as it does is because of Riddeck’s strategic mispositioning of the troops. If he hadn’t tactfully misplaced our men, I’m sure that Kara’s group would be captured—

  Whistling.

  I duck down behind the fortress walls at the telltale thwacking of an arrow, but I hear it thump against the crenellations instead. I peek in between the archer holes to find a burning arrow wobbling against the ramparts. The panic subsides. I recognize this sign.

  Of course, the fortress won’t burn despite being made of wood—that’s mostly thanks to Saegor’s runic inscriptions. Helps us save on costs.

  Also why this signpost works. It's an indicator for me that the job is finished. I’m to meet with Kara’s group in the forest and then they can finally be off to the South—finally, they can go back with the other Havenmarch refugees.

  “Princess! Are you alright?” one of the soldiers asks from below. A few others pause in their mad dashes, looking up to me now.

  Well, that gives me an excuse. “I see the raiders! I’ll go after them!”

  “Princess wai—”

  “Save what you can of the stores. That’s more important!” I hesitate for a moment, before adding: “Consider this an order!” With that, I hop over the walls and disappear into the violet darkness of night, speeding into the dense brush atop Misty, a dumb smile coming to face.

  …

  The shadows lengthen beneath the pale stars. I use the sounds of the wind to guide my path through the darkened briars—if I didn’t have my affinity, there’s no doubt I would've crashed by now.

  While weaving through the forest, I can’t help but think of the Havenmarchers. With this, hopefully some of their suffering can finally be alleviated. The Free Villages… they have endured too much. Maybe after all of this is over, I can get Pamela to make a lasting peace with them. A true peace. Not the current, fragile treaty we have in place.

  Who are you now? Catolican? Soryavladian? A member of the Free Villages?

  Probably the latter. I have no desire to play courts in Catolica—even if it seems like Pamela might need me. I just can’t. Besides, I have to mitigate the spread of the disease after all of this is over.

  After all of this is over…

  Right. I didn’t think of that. What am I going to do when Catolica retreats? The witch is still at large and the plague still spreads south.

  Gather the Free Villages. That stray thought surprises me, but I latch onto it quickly and run through possibilities. They’ll be resistant, at first. Especially the Forgecrests. But, we’ll need to come up with a solution. Before winter.

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  At least I have an in with Havenmarch now. And to think, I wanted to kill them when we first met. I don’t know why Raiten decided to show mercy at that moment in particular—it seemed so… unlike him. But at the end of the day, I’m glad for his decision. They’re just people too. People who have suffered, lost, and died in the face of this disease.

  And they have repaid their debt tenfold.

  So I will repay them back one-hundred fold—

  Silence.

  The open camp of Havenmarch is completely quiet. No fires—just the smoke from their snuffed kindling. No milling voices, excited celebrations. No people. No trace.

  I would assume that they are late—but, it's not that type of silence.

  The trees around me seem to stretch as a cold wind clinks against their leaves, rattling them like wind chimes from stores in Takemeadow.

  I dismount from Misty, but keep the spirit nearby.

  From the insides of my mantle, two daggers flash out in my hands, curved and cruel.

  “Kara?” I call.

  No response.

  A bead of sweat drips from my brow and my body tenses, muscles cording. I lick my lips, wetting them in case I need to use sound magicks.

  My heart thumps in my ears. Louder and louder. Babump. Babmump. BABUMP.

  BABUMP BABUMP BABUMP.

  BABUMPBABUMPBABUMPBABUMPBABUMPBABUMPBABUMPBABUMP—

  What in the name of the spirits—why am I so—

  “Fear is a strange thing, is it not?” A voice speaks, low and lilting, craven and all too pleased with itself.

  I spin about in place, eyes searching frantically. I have Misty start making circles around me to defend my blind spots.

  “Show yourself!”

  “It shows up where it pleases, when it pleases, no matter how inopportune the time might be.”

  I start whistling, desperately calling to the wind to find my assailant.

  “But you see, even amongst the most seasoned warriors, fear exists. Persists. I can hear your heart beat in the night, little Princess. I wonder, when will you realize that I cannot be found? That I am unlike anything else you have ever faced. I always love that moment: when understanding dawns upon my enemies—when they truly grasp that they are not dealing with a man, nor a dragon, nor a demon. Nay, I am beyond such beings. Ahhhh, I suppose it will be a few more seconds.”

  I grit my teeth. “Stop playing games and just—”

  Something dark and grimy rolls to me, knocking against my ankle. I jump back and raise a dagger, meaning to throw it.

  Then, I get a better look at the head.

  It is eyeless and bleeding from the sockets. The ears are stuffed into the mouth. The nose is split open, almost artfully, with symmetric lining and patterns. The cheeks are flayed. The hair is ringed around the forehead, ripped bare from the skull like—

  It's… Hilda.

  Another head drops down, bouncing on Misty before stopping in front of me.

  My heart blares in my ears. I can’t… move. I have to cut into my own palm with a dagger to bring some heat to my body, for the blood warms the cold dread of this thing.

  And I walk to the head.

  And I turn it over.

  And it is Kara. Her eyes remain, but they are crying with blood, staring at me accusingly. Her head is scalped.

  Another head. Then, another.

  Three. Five. Seven.

  Ten.

  I sink to my knees. All of them are distinct in their tortures. Eyes in mouths. Teeth in ears. One head is completely skinless and pulsing with exposed nerves.

  I force back the vomit.

  Try choking it down with anger.

  “I’ll—I’ll kill you.”

  “I don’t even think you believe that. But I respect the resolve.”

  A shadow passes over the starlit ground. It approaches me, human in form, yet a dark mania comes from the eyes. Black smoke sizzles from the shadow’s place upon the ground, rising into the air.

  My hands shake violently. I can’t control my own body movements.

  I can only watch as the warlock becomes a material man in a black hood and he makes his way over to me, smiling underneath that cowl.

  “Don’t worry, Princess. For you, I have something much better planned.”