The riot of the townspeople gathered closely at the plaza. Now that the Protestants were dead, they howled in excitement for the real show: the death of the witches. But at a corner alley, not far from where the platform was raised, Isabelle prepared in her tights, strapping her rapier and dagger around her waist.

“And the plan is?” asked Paolo, stepping next to Isabelle. He tested and stretched his longbow with his armguard on his right.

“Same as before,” answered Isabelle. “We wait for the Cloak. Go in. Take the settler and retreat.”

“And leave everyone wond’ring why suddenly the lady has vanished before their eyes?”

“She is a witch. She is expected to do something marvelous.”

“Isabelle, don’t stray from the objective,” sounded Mikael with a deep tone. “Remember, I can only call the ones nearby. If they happen to be more than a dozen, it is out of my hands.”

“I know, brother. You don’t have to remind me.” She pulled her hair back and tied it with a blue lace.

“Then I won’t remind you again, that the settler is your target. If anybody else gets in the way, you cannot and will not save them.”

“I know already. We’ve already done this tens of times.”

“Then why do I have the need to keep reminding you every time we do this?” Mikael clutched his lute closer to him and strapped it around his shoulder.

“Because I’m a young girl and young girls usually are rebellious and wouldn’t take no for an answer?” Isabelle grinned.

“Now cousin I think you have yourself mistaken for a boy, not a lady,” suggested Paolo.

“A Telios woman. Not an English one.”

“Hmmm…that actually makes more sense.”

“You two, get ready,” sternly ordered Mikael. “I’m about to start.” He pressed his fingertips on the head of the lute, raised his other hand up and brought it down to the strings…