The Pillars Of The World

head—except there were three spikes attached to the inside of it that would pierce the tongue and cheeks when the bridle was strapped on.
    Adolfo brushed his fingers over the spiked bridle. “I will give you a little time to decide if you will allow me to make this as quick and merciful as possible, or if you’ll force me to be the instrument of your suffering.”
    He lowered the wick in the oil lamp until there was barely enough light to see by. Then he walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.
    Ari stared at the spiked bridle—and shivered.
    Adolfo walked up the stairs, glad to be away from the damp cellar for a while. He would have liked more time to work with this one. Younger witches could become quite malleable given enough assistance, and their confessions were always so tearfully dramatic. And he would have liked more time to question her about the Fae and their noticeable interest in this Old Place.
    But it was the Fae and their interest that made it imperative to wring a confession out of this witch and dispose of her quickly. However, if the diversion Royce created was successful, the Fae would have no reason to look for the girl.
    Still there was that Fae Lord at the horse farm to consider. He might think to look beyond the borders of the Old Place.
    Adolfo sighed. No, he couldn’t take the time required to soften the girl to the humility that was proper and becoming in a female. But she would give him the opportunity to work with the two younger Inquisitors and teach them how to refine their skills.
    Dianna gave the dead mare in the meadow a wide berth. The shadow hounds sniffed the carcass, then backed away, growling softly. Lucian, in his other form, laid his ears back and galloped to the cottage.
    Dianna followed, feeling her heart thump against her chest when she noticed the open kitchen door.
    Lucian reached the cottage, changed to his human form, and went inside before Dianna and her hounds crossed the meadow. By the time she stepped into the kitchen, he was striding out of the bedroom.
    “She’s gone,” he said, his voice filled with fury and bitterness. “She’s already slunk away with that lout .”
    Dianna looked at the soup kettle on the worktable and the biscuits beside it. She gingerly touched the kettle. Still a bit of warmth. And the biscuits were fresh.
    “I don’t think she left with him,” Dianna said softly. She remembered what Morag had said about the Black Coats, and a chill went through her.
    “What are you talking about?” Lucian snapped. “There’s signs of packing in every room.”
    Dianna walked to the kitchen door, stared at the dead mare in the meadow, then turned back to her brother. “Oh, she intended to leave with him, but I don’t think that’s the reason she isn’t here.” When he started to argue, her own temper sharpened. “If she was leaving for good, she wouldn’t have left food out to spoil.”
    “Someone else would have taken care of it,” Lucian said, pacing the main room. Then he stopped abruptly at the same time Dianna asked, “Who?”
    They looked at each other.
    Dianna licked her lips, which were suddenly, painfully dry. “Maybe she’s just gone to Ahern’s to ask what to do about the mare.”
    “Maybe.” Lucian hesitated. “We’ll wait here a while. If she doesn’t return soon, I’ll go to Ahern’s to find out if he’s seen her.”
    Relief flowed through Dianna. Whatever had happened to that mare looked bad, but it had nothing to do with Ari.
    “While we’re waiting, we might as well have some of the soup,” she said. “There’s no sense letting it go to waste.”
    As she dished out the soup, she suddenly wondered why Morag had returned to Tir Alainn in such a hurry.
    “Was the mare dead when you left?” Morphia asked. “No,” Morag replied. Hidden in the shadows of the woods, she studied the meadow—and shivered. There’s a storm coming .
    She had been gone less than an hour. She had been gone far, far too long. I shouldn’t have left her. If I
    ’d been thinking, I wouldn’t have left her .
    “The Huntress is obviously here,” Morphia said, lifting her chin in the direction of the shadow hounds, who were gathered near the kitchen door. “Perhaps the Lightbringer as well. So at least we’ll have some help.”
    Morag’s heart had gone numb. That was the only way to explain this odd sensation of her mind seeing things with painful clarity while she felt nothing. “No,” she said. “We’ll