Even the wind did not jostle the flame as Manon lifted it, a torch in the new day. The Crochan crowd parted, revealing a straight path toward Bronwen’s hearth. The witch was already waiting, her coven gathered around her. Each step was a drumbeat of war. An answer to a question posed long ago. Bronwen’s eyes were bright as Manon stopped. Manon only said, “Your queen summons you to war.” And touched her flame to that in Bronwen’s hearth. Light flared, bright and dancing. Bronwen picked up a branch of her own, a long log burning in the fire. “The Vanora will fly.”
