The golden spire of the Inquisition's abbey gleamed in the cold, midday sun, taunting Ashlynn with its glittering, polished perfection. For several heartbeats, the interior of the carriage fell away as the golden spire consumed her vision.
She could tear it down. She could reduce it all to rubble. She had the power. The forest would answer her call. The earth itself would shake at her command. Her fingers curled into fists in her lap, emerald light flickering at the edges of her vision as power stirred in response to her rage.
"My lady?"
Isabell's voice was gentle, but Ashlynn heard the careful concern underneath. The older woman had positioned herself across from Ashlynn deliberately, she realized. Close enough to intervene if necessary. Close enough to notice the signs.
