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them all mixed in among the handmaidens as they'd walked. Tyrel it seemed was drawing a very mixed crowd these days. Maybe she always had.
     
    “Indeed good handmaiden. We bring some words of a terrible loss of life including those of innocent women and children and some questions too if the Honoured Mother will consent to listen to them.”
     
    And if she wouldn't that would be more than fine by him. They would simply turn on their heels and march right out of there as fast as they could go without giving offence. He didn't like this place. Actually as a man who'd occasionally worked against Tyrel's interests, it scared the seven hells out of him. Unfortunately he had a very sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that she would want to hear his words. If only to set her eyes on the spark that had been annoying her for so many years.
     
    “Wait here. I will bring your request to the Mother.”
     
    The handmaiden walked gracefully away, her long white gold hair shining in the sun like a crown, her dress swaying gently as she did so. In her own way Edouard thought, she was every bit as seductive as the demoness. And just as out of place.
     
    White gold hair hanging all the way down to her waist, white gold eyebrows as well, and skin that almost glowed with a healthy golden tan. She had to be of the Tenarri, a people whose women wore their hair straight down their backs in loose plaits. And whose homeland lay a thousand leagues and two seas to the east of them. She was a very long way from home, and that distance was measured in more than just leagues.
     
    The Tenarri were a warrior people, though that in his view was doing them too much credit. They were really a collection of tribal war bands constantly fighting over the land and the right to rule. Or rather the number of people they could rule. Each house was always looking for a way to steal villages and towns off its rivals. That usually amounted to trumping up some imagined charge and then attacking immediately. As for the people of those towns and villages they constantly fought over, they were little more than slaves. No matter which House ruled them, they had to work for them.
     
    This woman was no peasant though. She was too well spoken for that. Which meant that she had to be from one of the noble houses. Such a woman would always be ready for war as the various families constantly sought the chance to attack. But she was unarmed and that for her had to be shocking. Her people always wore their swords proudly and they knew how to use them. Men and women both. There was a riddle there, a question to be answered, but he knew he would not have the time to ask it.
     
    “She's not a dryad.”
     
    “Tenarri, now hush!” He kicked his brother again, but not too hard this time. “And eyes down!”
     
    But even as he shushed his brother, Edouard pondered the fact that the handmaiden hadn't asked for their names. Either Tyrel knew them, which seemed unlikely, or she didn't care. Why didn't she care? Was it that all men were the same to her – sinners? Or was it that there was no point in knowing their names when they were about to die? Edouard didn't like that thought. But he knew it was a possibility.
     
    He carefully didn't mention his concern to Marcus. His brother had enough to deal with in just remembering to be respectful. So instead of talking about it, they stood silently in the bright sunshine and waited.  They seemed to wait forever though that was probably just nerves. Of course his brother hated silence as much as he hated inactivity.
     
    “Why are you so edgy?”
     
    Edouard sighed as he realised his older brother still didn't understand the precariousness of their position. It wasn't surprising. Magic wasn't well understood by most people. There were few practitioners and most people lived quiet lives without needing it. Especially when there was technology to fill the void. Then too Therion had been a peaceful place for a long time. No one