Twelve ships.
Twelve whole ships filled with freshly acquired slaves, their bodies not even filthy yet from their time in the hull, their wrists and ankles still pristine, the shackles not even having the opportunity to mark them.
And Ithaca had somehow managed to track down and acquire them all within the span of a few weeks.
Oh, she'd certainly still been furious with Celeste when she'd delivered them one after another to her on the outskirts of Portmouth where the Loreley and Siren had relocated, her poisonous looks sour enough that they could have curdled milk. Yet as the days passed, the snarling, the threats, had all faded into quiet brooding.
If Celeste hadn't known better she might have guessed something weighed heavily on the woman's mind. And there hadn't been a word about their little bargain.
She hadn't bothered to ask her about it though, too focused on placing the captives brought to her to even really notice or care.
The influx had been so great that they'd struggled to find places for them all the sleep, despite Fallon sending out inquiries to all their allies, excluding the Night Court, to see if they had the room and resources to accommodate them, even if only temporarily.
Not that Celeste was complaining, quite the contrary actually.
From her estimations they'd taken out well over half of the active cargo ships, burning the vessels and sending them to watery graves once they had been cleared.
It was a blow that Vaerek said the slavers would never recover from.
"Incredible," Gandriel murmured as he looked at the ledgers over Celeste's shoulder, a log newly filled to the brim with the names of all the captives, human and fae, Ithaca had managed to free. "I can't believe that foul woman's actually been useful."
He certainly hadn't sounded that impressed the morning following Solstice when he'd found out exactly what had happened on the beach, openly gaping at Celeste and asking her if she'd truly lost her damn mind.
She'd dryly informed him that she'd never had it in the first place, still nursing her remaining throbbing headache from the night's festivities.
"She must really want your hair." Anelisse added, lounging in one of the overstuffed chairs across from Celeste's desk, her hair tied away from her face as she mixed vibrant powders into little glass vials. Paints or otherwise, Celeste wasn't sure, and wasn't entirely certain she wanted to know.
"Still stupid of you to offer something so personal," Fallon quipped from her position on the other chair next to Anelisse, watching the small girl mixing her concoctions with a raised brow. "I don't think I've ever seen my father so frazzled as when he told us what happened on the beach that night."
"I don't know why," Anelisse replied, dusting a pale pink powder and something that smelt suspiciously like sulfur into one of the jars, "it's just Ithaca."
"You and Celeste both scare the shit out of me with how calm and unfazed you are by that she-devil," Gandriel palpably shuddered behind her before winnowing and popping up in front of her bookshelf, fingers skimming over the tomes. "Celeste's got her on a leash like a pet jaguar and you think she's the sweetest thing you've ever seen."
"She's just misunderstood."
"I don't think 'misunderstood' is how I would describe Ithaca." Gandriel began ticking off his fingers. "Awful," he appeared in front of Celeste's desk and dropped off an empty ledger, "heinous," he disappeared and reemerged in front of the table, snagging an apple, "batshit crazy," he appeared once more in front of the windows, "the embodiment of hell on earth—"
"If you don't stop winnowing every five seconds I'm going to shatter your kneecaps," Celeste growled as Gandriel popped into being on the edge of her desk, juice from his apple leaking down his chin.
He'd finally managed to gain full control over his winnowing in the previous weeks, his precision incredible. His response? To abuse it as much as possible by jumping from place to place instead of walking.
"Why?" He loudly sucked on the juices, making Celeste's eye twitch. "I thought you were happy that I was finally mastering my ability."
"Only you could take such a talent and make a nuisance of it."
"Captain, you wound me so."
"She's going to wound you more if you keep crinkling her papers with your ass," Anelisse said, peeking up from her work. "I'd suggest getting down."
He stuck his tongue out childishly before disappearing into nothingness once more and landing on the back of the chair behind Anelisse sending the papers he'd been sitting on scattering across the floor.
Celeste felt a muscle in her jaw twitch.
"You know, I wonder if you get your obnoxiousness from your father," Fallon mused, looking over Gandriel with a discerning eye. "I remember him being quite the bastard from the first time I met him."
"You take that back," Gandriel griped, waving his apple core aggressively at Fallon, the truth of his heritage having finally slipped to Celeste's fellow Captain as well. "I'm nothing like that self-serving prick."
"Perhaps not, but you certainly look like him. I'm honestly surprised no one has noticed." Fallon sent Celeste a glance that seemed to say, For either of you.
"Nonsense, I look like an Aella," he ran his hands through his dark golden locks, tawny-green eyes sparkling. "I am an Aella, a son of Monteserre."
"The paleness of your ass says otherwise."
"You've never seen my ass so you wouldn't know, Fallon."
"Mmm, wrong again, Gandriel," she gave him a wink, "you forget we played strip poker when we first met."
A flush raced up his cheeks at that.
Anelisse put a gentle hand on his knee and squeezed. "I'm afraid to tell you that she's right. Your ass is much lighter than the rest of your body."
The following indignant squawk reminded Celeste of a parrot.
"Perhaps I'll take to tanning naked on the ship then, and let my entire body become a nice golden so you ladies will leave my nether regions alone."
"If we're talking about Gandriel's nether regions I'll come back another time," a deep voice interrupted, Avi peeking his head through the door, "though I think the news I bring might be slightly more important."
"What is it?" Celeste asked as she put her quill down, preparing to rise. "Has Ithaca brought another ship already?"
If she had they'd have their work cut out for them, the small local inn already filled to the brim with the latest ship she'd taken three days before.
"Not yet." The selkie stepped fully into the room, closing the door quietly behind him, the latch clicking silently into place. "It's news from our informants in Marchedor actually, or rather, the lack thereof."
"What do you mean?" Gandriel asked, straightening.
"We're set to receive reports from our informants every two weeks on the dot, they've never been late before, not until now." Avi crossed his arms over his chest, an air of concern surrounding him. "The reports haven't arrived yet. They're nearly a week overdue."
"They might be delayed by weather," Fallon added nonchalantly, seemingly unconcerned as she picked lint from Priscilla. "It wouldn't surprise me if rains have slowed their delivery."
Avi shook his head, "I don't think so. There's been no mention of adverse weather and it wouldn't be common for this time of year." He sighed. "I think someone's been caught."
"We've never had an issue up to this point," Anelisse said, placing her vials and supplies gently into a bag on the floor. "Why would they suddenly get caught now?"
"An uptick in shipments going missing," Celeste answered, rising from her desk. "They've never lost this many ships at once, meaning they're getting desperate. They're no doubt tightening down on trying to figure out where the information of their coordinates is slipping."
Though Celeste doubted they suspected some supernatural being with the ability to take ship after ship was in their assumptions. No, they were likely looking for the loose lips, the rogue men who they suspected were giving all the details away.
"Precisely, which is why I think it prudent someone go back to Marchedor and check things out."
"And all of these children?" Fallon asked, looking at her father in disbelief. "Who's to wrangle them if you send a search party to go hunting for missing informants? We've already got too many to handle as it is, and if Ithaca comes with another shipment—"
"We'll go," said Celeste, stepping around the desk as she tried to ignore the worry that gnawed at her regarding the spies she had working in the city, especially Isabelle, who'd already been attacked. "Anelisse, Gandriel and I can handle it. You stay here and keep child-rearing, since you love them so."
Fallon sent her a filthy gesture.
Celeste's fellow captain felt the opposite actually, while wanting to protect and save them she'd had zero interest in actually taking care of them. She remembered Fallon staring blankly at the children who had swarmed her in the streets after their rescue, demanding hugs and attention.
Fallon had affectionately referred to them thereafter as "vermin".
The children had thought it was delightful and funny.
"I think that would be best," Avi said, "with Gandriel being able to winnow you'll be there and back more quickly than the rest of us could reach the city by horseback."
"You're right, we'll plan to leave immediately."
Celeste gestured to Anelisse and Gandriel, knowing the sooner they left the sooner they could check on Isabelle and the others. Both her sister and first mate rose to join her before a low knock sounded at the door.
"Come in." Celeste called.
She watched as the door peeled open and Nima stuck her head through the gap, dark eyes slightly downcast as she stepped into the room.
"Nima," she greeted, noticing the human's nervousness, "what is it?"
"I was wondering, Captain," she tilted her face up to look at Celeste, her eyes darting nervously about, "if you would permit me to go with you to the city. That is, if you are willing. I . . . I would very much like to help."
"Were you eavesdropping?" The woman had been lingering around her quite a lot since the encounter with Ithaca, no doubt still unsettled from what she'd seen on the beach that night.
Celeste felt a bit foolish for letting her bear witness to that.
Nima flinched, rubbing awkwardly at her forearm, "Y-yes."
Celeste sighed.
"I swear, there's not a one of you on this ship that isn't snoopy." She cast a pointed look at the four people before her, each shining examples of nosiness and none looking the least bit guilty about it. She sighed. "But if you feel you'd be of use then yes, you may go, Nima."
The woman nervously nodded her head, muttering her thanks as Avi gave her a questioning look.
Celeste looked to Gandriel. "Can you manage to winnow us all? That is, if you haven't used all of your magic flitting about the room since your legs seem to have quit working."
"Hush." The male rolled his shoulders experimentally, nodding. "I think so. It'll take more time, but I can do it."
Well, he was finally making himself useful for something.
"Good," she motioned for Nima to move closer, "then we should leave immediately."
It was freshly nightfall by the time they landed on the streets of Marchedor, having left the deck of the Loreley just as the sun was setting.
Standing in the twinkling fae light lanterns, Gandriel released his hold on each of them, stepping away and breathing in the cool night air. His control over his power had strengthened rapidly, being able to step from place to place with ease now.
Not that it had meant anything for his shifting abilities.
He still wasn't entirely convinced that the fae male, Dune, that he'd faced on the slavers ship hadn't had something to do with it. Even if he knew in his heart of hearts where the power had come from.
He flexed his palm, remembering the feeling of the claws that had emerged from his fingers on that cargo ship full of children, the way the rage had roiled inside of him molten and burning, twitching and shifting a way that made his very being shift too.
A rage that he had never felt, a fury that he knew he'd inherited from a male who had far less of an ability to control it.
The heir to a throne he never wanted, the son of a monster who'd nearly caused Pyrthian's fall and his mother innumerable tears . . .
"Oh no," he breathed in the vanilla and lavender of Anelisse's scent, soaked in the warmth of her body as she gently nudged him in the ribs, "you're thinking about me naked again, aren't you?"
"Perhaps," he lied, his thoughts melting away as he let out a low chortle, snaking an arm around her waist, "it is a lovely thing to think about."
She swiped the stray locks of his hair from his eyes, delicate fingers lingering on his face.
"You're lying." She bounced up on her toes and kissed him on his cheek, a soft thing that made his insides go fuzzy. "You're not him, no matter what Fallon says."
He was certain she was beginning to know him better than he even knew himself. That petite blonde that had kneed him so hard in the balls he wasn't sure he'd ever walk again, much less make children, when she'd first met him and now . . .
She was a lover, yes, and a fine one at that, but she was so much more. A friend, one that he could rely on truly and fully, who he could speak to without fear of rejection or judgement. Someone who could ground him when things ate at him too violently, when certain redheads who could piss off the dead opened their mouths.
"You know she doesn't mean anything by it."
"She's a devil and you know I'm right."
"Less of one than Ithaca though," Anelisse winked, bobbing her head towards her sister and Nima who stood close by, nervously glancing around the dusky street, "but we've got other things to focus on. Come on."
He strolled after, knowing that she was right.
They had friends in this city, friends who also worked on the front lines. And having not heard from them . . . Gandriel felt his stomach twist in a knot.
Surely things were fine; they'd likely been outed and had gone underground until things blew over.
"Nima and I will head to the Orchid first," Celeste murmured to him as she pulled her hood up over her head and covered her face with her mask, always careful to conceal her identity to anyone who wasn't part of her crew. "I want to make sure Isabelle is all right. You and Anelisse can head towards the Heron, see if you can find Danna and William. We can rendezvous in the market to track down the rest."
Nima bobbed her head vigorously in agreement, her slim shoulders nearly quaking as she stepped in line with Celeste, silent as she usually was.
Gandriel also nodded his head in agreement before turning on his heel and heading toward the Golden Heron, once one of his favored gambling spots when he'd tried to drown his sorrow about his bond with Ithaca in liquor and dice.
That time felt like ages ago now, his life so different than it had been when he'd desperately fled his home in Marchedor, looking for any solution to his mother's deteriorating health.
A time before he'd found his own new family.
He'd spoken to Anelisse about it once, about what it had been like being under Ithaca's control, a pet to do her bidding. There had been a time in his life when he would have thought being a sex slave to an immortal being might have been fun, exciting almost, but when it came to the reality of it . . .
He worried what her intentions were with Celeste, with what exactly she was after when it came to a strand of her hair.
He'd never seen the woman work so tirelessly, always casual in her motions, bored almost, as though her extended lifespan had long since sucked away the sense of urgency that most people felt.
She really wanted that strand of hair.
And with Celeste being the lost heir of Night . . .
What was Ithaca planning to do with it?
"You're thinking about Ithaca again." Anelisse chirped, silvery gaze forward as she trotted alongside him, her ashen hair almost white in the faelight. "You're worried that my sister has dug herself a hole that she won't be able to crawl out of."
"Do you blame me? Celeste is fierce and brilliant, but Ithaca . . ." he felt a shudder race up his spine, "she'll do anything to get what she wants. And if she's figured out who Cel-Lily really is . . ."
"So will my sister." There was no doubt in Anelisse's tone, no waver. "And Ithaca, for all of her howling, isn't as bad as she makes herself out to be. I don't believe she has bad intentions."
"I think you're idealizing the situation." For the blonde, despite her discerning gaze and intellect, couldn't seem to get past the fact that Ithaca was the biggest bitch he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. "She will use it against her."
"Then why didn't she use your heritage against you? I assume she could have easily ransomed you to your family for anything she desired."
The thought of Ithaca knowing his parentage scared him more than the darkness that had met him when he'd slit his own throat.
And he sincerely doubted there was any material thing that Ithaca could have desired if her little impromptu warehouse he'd once raided was any indication.
"I don't think she knows."
"I think she does and just chooses not to say anything." They turned down the main street of Marchedor, weaving in and out of busy patrons still milling the streets. "She has nothing to gain by doing so."
"Except for my misery," Gandriel muttered a bit sullenly.
"True," Anelisse chirped, mischievously smirking, "though if you chose to embrace your . . . condition . . ." He grumbled, being heir to Spring Court was certainly a condition. "You will need a queen. Perhaps you can ask Ithaca."
He stopped short, looking at Anelisse as though she'd grown two heads.
"Excuse me?"
"What? She's immortal," she waggled her eyebrows, "beautiful, powerful, good at keeping you in line—"
"Anelisse, please," he whined, revolted at the thought of even being the Lord of Spring much less having Ithaca as a wife-
"Gandriel," she patted his arm, looking up at him through her pale lashes, "I'm just teasing."
He let out a breath of relief, heat flushing up his cheeks. "Don't make me think of that, don't ever make me imagine such a future."
For he would never take the throne, bloodline be damned. Surely his father would breed another heir before he decided to push up daisies, right? Right?
Anelisse let out a laugh, a beautiful bright peal that made his insides warm.
"Besides," he continued, toying with an idea he'd never even once considered, a possibility that his mother had laid out for him many years ago, "if I'm going to be forced to take that throne then I will have a lady of my own choosing."
"Not a queen?"
He shook his head. "Prythian doesn't have queens, just High Lords, and, well . . ." he trailed off, "one High Lady."
"Only one?"
"Yes, they're a bigoted bunch with the traditions there, only males can inherit the power." He remembered the history books he'd combed through as a child, the lessons from his aunt Carmen as she went through even line of royalty in the known fae lands, smacking his head for every one he failed to memorize. "Except one, the Cursebreaker. She gained her powers under the Mountain and married the High Lord of Night . . ."
That was, after she'd brutally dumped his . . . sperm donor and wrecked his court, decades before his mother had ever even met him.
And to top it all off . . . she was his best friend's mother.
Feyre Cursebreaker.
Gandriel wasn't even sure what reality he lived in anymore.
Anelisse's eyes had gone wide, ire flaring to life in her eyes.
"How have you never mentioned this?"
"It never seemed important." He thought of his friend, of what the Night Court had done to her. "Besides, they're not exactly my favorite people."
"Mine either." The steel that flashed through Anelisse's eyes left him breathless, the strength and resilience of this young mortal woman . . . he wondered what she would have become, what she could have done if she had been high fae. "Cursebreaker or not, she's not going anywhere near my sister."
And he knew Anelisse would do anything in her power to protect her from them.
He would too.
"Regardless, I don't think it's something we need to worry about now,"
They walked in silence for a time, the sounds of the people milling around them drowning out the thumping of their footsteps but doing nothing to silence out the thoughts flitting through his mind.
After a while, he chose to voice those thoughts, consequences be damned.
"I'd choose you."
"Pardon?" Anelisse replied, her thoughts having clearly left their previous conversation.
He took a deep breath.
"If I had to choose a High Lady," he averted his gaze, trying to not look too closely at the curious eyes fixed on him, "I would choose you. I think you would make a marvelous queen."
Gandriel had expected a number of reactions: blushing, preening, any variation of what Anelisse normally granted him with compliments. He, however, didn't expect the fizzling sound that erupted into raucous belly laughter beside him.
A flush raced up his cheeks. "Why are you laughing?"
Was the thought of being with him, ruling beside him, that laughable?
"Have you gone mad?" Anelisse wrapped her arms around her middle, tears streaming openly down her face. "You . . . you do realize I'm human, yes? Mortal?" She wiped at the water dribbling out of her eyes, snorting. "Gandriel, I'll be dead long before you even have a chance to take the throne."
Oh.
The words left a rock in the pit of his stomach, a realization he'd been carefully avoiding in his time with the woman.
"Anelisse."
"It's true, Gandriel," she smiled up at him, stars in her eyes and face in a wide grin. "There's no reason to be sad about it and the notion, I'm honored, truly, any woman, or female for that matter would be. You're wonderful." He flushed at that, watching her as she cleared her throat. "But it's not feasible."
She put her hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. "I will always love you, whether we be friends or lovers, or young king and withered crone, do not mistake that. But," her features softened, eyes almost growing distant, "I won't always be with you and Celeste. I'm limited by this weak mortal body." She waved her arm in front of him, delicate like a paper flower.
Fleeting and fragile in the way his mother had gently warned him.
He swallowed hard.
"It makes no difference to me." He'd bind himself to her and follow into the darkness if she chose it, would do anything to protect the ones he loved.
"I'm fully aware. But you know," she tapped on her chin thoughtfully, "you could always marry my sister, make her your High Lady."
His heart stopped in his chest.
He wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly.
"What?"
Celeste would eat him alive, would skin him and feed his entrails to the dogs, and probably make a rug out of what was left to rest her feet on in the evening.
"You heard me." Anelisse huffed a laugh, pushing her hair out of her face. "Oh don't look at me like you don't think she's the most beautiful female you've ever seen, we both know you'd be lying."
He hated to admit it but there was truth to that.
But there was also beauty in the flowers of a nightshade, it didn't mean you'd want to eat the damn thing.
Anelisse continued. "Two heirs ruling side by side, making the world a better place. A place that I know I'd be honored to live in." He felt his heart splutter at her words, a world where she no longer existed . . . it wasn't a world he thought he or her sister would ever want to see. "You could protect one another, keep each other safe when I'm not here to watch your backs."
He heard the drop in her tone, felt the shift in her stature.
"What are you asking of me, Anelisse?" He said it softly, tentatively reaching out to cup her delicate face.
"I'm asking you to protect my sister when I'm gone." A knife twisted in his heart at that, at the inescapable truth of what she was implying. "I want to know she'll be safe when I can no longer protect her. That is what I'm asking."
"That won't be for a very long time," he wiped at a stray tear that escaped, the emotion in her face finally overflowing, "you know that, right?"
"I intend that to be the case, but the things we do, the things we face," she gripped his hand, "there is no promise, Gandriel, and I have to know. I need you to swear to me that you'll keep her safe. That Cursebreakers and winged monsters won't come take her in the night."
Steel hardened in his chest, a promise, no, an oath that he was willing to make, forming.
"I swear it on my life, Anelisse." He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms in the shadow of the street lamp they'd stopped beneath. "You have my word."
For her, for Celeste, he'd break the world to keep them safe. He'd face the Lord of Night himself if it came to it.
She sniffed sadly, rubbing her face softly into his chest. "Thank you."
Celeste wove through the streets quickly, dodging in and out of alleys, taking the quickest path to the Orchid that she could manage. To her pleasant surprise, Nima kept up with her easily.
"For a human woman you certainly are quick on your feet," Celeste offered casually as she turned down one of the cobblestone streets, heading into the Ruby District where Marchedor's less savory crowd tended to linger.
"It comes from my years living in the high mountains," the woman replied quickly, her nervousness having seemed to quell with Gandriel's departure. Celeste briefly wondered what horrors she might have faced at the hands of a man or male.
Many of the female slaves she'd met had suffered such a fate.
She ignored the burning anger flaring in her stomach, opting instead to lead her thoughts and the conversation elsewhere.
"I didn't know there were high mountains in the southern parts of the continent." Though when she thought of it, she honestly knew very little of the human lands outside of Vanica. "I imagine your way of life wasn't easy."
Then again, from all of the slaves she'd met she was beginning to wonder whose was.
"It was a life of devotion, serving a higher purpose beyond our own." Celeste quirked a brow at that, thinking of the factions of human villages that had taken to worshipping the Mother after the Wall's fall. "Leaving my homeland was something that I was proud to do."
"So you were a pilgrim, then."
Nima paused. "Of a sort, yes."
She'd likely been scooped up by slavers on the road during her travels, Celeste realized, annoyance filtering through her at their preying on the innocent.
"So what was your mission?" Turning a familiar sharp corner Celeste found herself before the Orchid, relief filling her to see that things appeared normal. "To spread the word of the Mother?"
Nima shook her head, staying on Celeste's heels as she made for the entrance. "To find our . . . leader." She trailed off, her voice lowering significantly. "He's been missing for a very long time."
Celeste's brow scrunched at that, sorting through the numerous human nations that existed. Perhaps she had come from a group of nomads, they were well known for crowning "kings" amongst themselves, and if she'd come from the high mountains . . .
"You're from the barbarian tribes then."
"If you wish to call them that, then yes."
She'd heard the stories of their people from other slaves she'd rescued from those tribes, though Celeste had to admit Nima didn't have the paleness or the ruddy hair that seemed common amongst them.
Maybe she'd come from a different region. Perhaps she'd ask the woman to show her on a map one day, another kernel of information to add to her ever growing repertoire.
Pushing her way into the Orchid, she was met with the usual heavily perfumed air hit her nose, the scent somewhat more stale than usual. Maybe the matron was finally getting lazy; she'd always certainly been cheap.
Honestly in her advanced age Celeste was surprised she hadn't already keeled over.
Turning she was also surprised to see no one was manning the front desk, the girls having likely wandered off for food, which wasn't unusual for the hour. Well, all the better for her, she thought as she eased over the desk to swipe up the key to Isabelle's room and made her way to the stairs, anxious to see her friend.
Taking the steps two at a time Celeste quickly ascended to the top floor and made her way to the ivory door that she'd long since become accustomed to. Stopping before it she pounded on the wood, knowing full well that Isabelle would be furious with her if she just barged in.
She waited for a minute with no response.
Unease settled in Celeste, even as her mind justified that Isabelle's absence was due to having left for dinner or napping, since she knew the woman preferred that in her spare time.
She looked at Nima. "Well, I guess we let ourselves in."
Shoving the key into the door, Celeste was surprised to find that it wasn't locked at all. Further worry filled her as she quickly pulled the door open and stepped inside.
"Isabelle—"
Her voice died in her throat as the stench of death, masked by the inn's perfume, assaulted her, the lovely pink linens and sheets splattered in blood. Her entire world froze, her vision honing in on the prone figure on the bed.
Celeste froze as silence filled her, her entire being going hollow as she stepped slowly into the room.
They'd brutalized her.
The corpse of her friend lay on the bed, body torn to pieces and charred in a way that told Celeste her death had been anything but peaceful, her throat torn wide and empty eye sockets staring at the ceiling.
And there on the floor beside her . . .
Four more corpses.
Danna, William, Rhett, and Quinn.
All dead.
All too far gone for her to breathe life into them once more.
All her informants, all now dead under her watch. The silence was deafening, the roaring in her ears growing into a crescendo as she saw the writing on the walls, the letters scrawled in the blood of her friends, of her people.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STOPPED WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE FAE WHORE.
Dermot's men.
She took one step, then another, her eyes fixed on Isabelle's body, on her infamous pink boa that Gandriel had always stolen from her again and again.
Gone, taken from her.
There would never be evening tea with her again, would never again be afternoons of low conversations and pleasant stories.
She knelt silently next to her friend, barely registering the trickle of tears leaking from her eyes that dropped on to Isabelle's blackened skin, the stench of decay burning Celeste's nostrils.
Dermot had signed his death warrant long ago, stirring up a war he'd never stood a chance at winning, but this . . . it was time for an extermination.