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“Blasted thrall isn’t good for anything,” the gnome gripes, sounding like she’s tinkering with something. Suddenly, there’s a spark of light, followed by a flickering flame protected by the tinderbox in Maisel’s hand.

It’s just bright enough to make out the oil lamp sitting on the table directly in front of the gnome woman. A few moments later, light floods the room.

The first thing I notice is the layer of dust on the entry table. Some of it has been disrupted, leaving several rings that match the lamp’s base. Someone has been here.

As I’m scrutinizing the filth, Clover gasps.

Turning into the room, I draw in my own startled breath when I spot the body on the floor.

Or what used to be a body.

I pull Clover into me, turning her in my arms to block her view of what’s left of the man. He’s gray and leathery, his eyes clouded and unseeing. There’s nothing left but skin and bones, not an ounce of blood or muscle left to him. He looks like he was dehydrated in the sun like a salted fish.

Even I must look away as my stomach rolls.

“You could have warned us,” I tell Maisel.

“I didn’t realize the two of you were so squeamish,” the tiny warrior says with disdain.

I rub my hand over Clover’s back. “Are you all right?”

She nods, shivering once. “I’ll never be able to unsee that.”

“I need to take a closer look,” I say gently. “How about you stay here?”

“Better you than me.”

I release Clover’s shoulders, preparing myself. Immediately, I notice several details I didn’t register at first glance—the knight’s tabard, the amber pennant, and the silver medallion.

“It’s Barret,” I say heavily, acknowledging something I subconsciously knew the moment Maisel lit the lamp.

Clover makes a noise of distress. I don’t believe she and her guard were close, but this is still a horrible shock.

“What did you see?” I demand, turning to Maisel.

The gnome frowns, gathering her thoughts. “The knight brought Camellia’s body here after he stole her from the royal mortician. I followed him.” She motions to the strange tools scattered on the table near the center of the room—gruesome-looking devices I have no name for. “He did…things to her.”

“Things like what?”

“Removed her organs.” Even Maisel pales. “And other parts of her. Then he stitched her back up, rubbed her skin with something that smelled bitter, and covered her in salt.”

“Hemummifiedher?” I ask, only vaguely familiar with the term thanks to my research for my command position. It’s not a practice done in either Caldenbauer or our homeland of Calendria. It comes from further away, from a time of the ancients.

Maisel swallows. “I don’t know. Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. He tossed a sheet over her and left her like that for weeks, just laying there on the floor. Almost like he was waiting for something.”

“Then what happened?” Clover asks.

“I was beginning to think he’d stuffed her like a beloved pet, and that was that. But one night, he removed the sheet, knelt in front of her, sliced his hand, and dripped blood over her body.” Maisel swallows. “She woke after that.”

“Shewoke?” Clover demands.

“That’s right.”

“What happened to Barret?” I ask, a chill running the length of my spine. I shouldn’t have brought Clover here. What kind of sorcery are we dealing with?

Maisel looks at the wadded-up linen sheet discarded in the corner. “She drained his blood, and I…” She scowls. “Well, I blacked out.Briefly. When I woke up, she was gone.”

Clover’s eyes go wide. “Where did she go?”