BELINDA PRIMROSE

2 April 1588 † Alunaer

Her father's voice awakened her, so loud and unexpectedly clear that she jolted to her elbows, staring around her cell in heart-racing anticipation.

It was empty, as it had to be, nothing more than herself and a sliver of moonlight to occupy it. But Robert's voice lingered, reverberating from the walls. She could smell chypre, the cologne he always wore, and slowly she realised that the scent lit flares of witchpower in her mind. Chypre had haunted her when Javier had helped to waken her witchpower, too, its familiar scent part of the barrier that had been erected to keep her magic caged.

She whispered “Robert,” but by then she knew he wasn't there, and that his voice had only spoken within her mind.

Prepare, the echoes said again. Prepare, my Primrose. Prepare for war.