Pyres and Prophecy

Pyres and Prophecy A CONSPIRACY OF WITCHES BOOK THREE N.B. SNOOK Copyright © 2023 by N.B. Snook (Noel B. Snook) All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination, and similarities to real persons or incidents is coincidental—with the exception of any references to historical persons or events, which have been fictionalized for the purpose of this story. For my readers. Sorry about that last cliffhanger. Contents Be Advised Prologue 1. Thora 2. Kieran 3. Thora 4. Kieran 5. Thora 6. Kieran 7. Thora 8. Kieran 9. Thora 10. Kieran 11. Thora 12. Kieran 13. Thora 14. Kieran 15. Thora 16. Kieran 17. Thora 18. Kieran 19. Thora 20. Kieran 21. Thora 22. Kieran 23. Thora 24. Kieran 25. Thora 26. Thora 27. Kieran 28. Thora 29. Kieran 30. Thora 31. Thora 32. Kieran 33. Thora 34. Thora 35. Kieran 36. Thora 37. Thora 38. Thora 39. Kieran 40. Thora 41. Thora 42. Thora 43. Kieran 44. Thora 45. Thora 46. Kieran 47. Thora 48. Thora 49. Kieran 50. Thora 51. Thora 52. Thora 53. Kieran 54. Thora 55. Thora 56. Thora 57. Kieran 58. Thora 59. Kieran 60. Thora 61. Kieran 62. Thora 63. Kieran 64. Thora 65. Thora 66. Thora 67. Kieran 68. Thora 69. Thora 70. Kieran 71. Kieran 72. Thora 73. Kieran 74. Thora 75. Kieran 76. Thora 77. Kieran 78. Thora 79. Thora Epilogue Ready For More? Acknowledgments About the Author Be Advised Pyres and Prophecy goes harder than the previous two books in this series. There is more swearing and a pinch more spice. There is an increase in graphic depictions of violence, gore, and death—including a scene involving a child. This is not a “dark” book, but many dark themes are addressed. Prologue Northern Ireland, 1549. I hear the screams. The same screams I have heard every day for what feels like a fortnight. In truth, I have no real grasp of how long I have been locked in this cage, but any amount of time is too long. I am the last. At one time, there had been eight of us crammed into here as we journeyed toward judgement, but now that we have arrived, that number has dwindled. The screams that ring in my ears now are from a girl called Bridget. She was the youngest of our group and the others had done what they could to keep our captors from taking her. This was supposed to be my turn. Yet, when the witch hunters came, they’d taken her despite my protests. I had volunteered myself, only to be met with a firm slap that sent me flying backwards as they dragged Bridget out by her ankles. I will never forget the sound of my name on her frantic tongue as they took her, though it’s not like I will have to suffer that for long. Bridget’s screams have become broken and muffled, so she must be in the water now. It will not be long before she drowns or they kill her. There is no winning when it comes to the practice these men call swimming the witch. If one drowns, they are non-magical. If they float, they are deemed unholy or possessed by a devil and soon killed. I am not a witch, but today I will die as one. Just as silence falls, the cage door opens. This is the soonest someone has come, so they must be in a hurry to end it. My hands are bound, but I ready them into fists. There may be no chance of escape, but I will not go without drawing blood. The man crouches down in front of me and I throw my full weight into my swing as if my hands themselves are a weapon. My blow is too easily blocked by swifter hands than mine, and I brace myself for retaliation. No blow comes. Instead, a soft voice breaks the silence. “Ella, do you know me?” I have been called all manner of things in recent days, but not one of them was my name. Especially not my shortened name. I was Eloise at my trial, so none of my captors should know me as Ella. I force open my eyes, which I only now realize were shut tight, and meet the gaze of the stranger. Only… these are not the eyes of a stranger. I know these eyes, though they cannot belong to him. Kieran is dead. At least, he had been dead before a demon possessed him and pulled him from his grave. Father shot him that night near ten years ago. This must be a vision or some trickery of the mind. I’ve not had a full night’s rest in weeks. I must be imagining him. He cannot be here. “Leave me, devil,” I say, forcing my eyes shut again and turning my head away. “I want no part in this trickery. My faith will not waver.” The soft chuckle he makes is almost sad. “I expected nothing less from you, sister.” The demon places his hands on my shoulders and once again my eyes find his; so full of sadness and pain. If this were my Kieran, my heart would break a hundredfold. It is not him, though. It cannot be. “You must listen,” he says. “I cannot stop this. I have done everything in my power to save you. I have begged and pleaded, but to no avail. Because you are my sister, he has ordered your death.” He? Of whom does this demon speak? “I am here only in hopes of offering some comfort… and to ask your forgiveness. I have failed you, sister.” His hands tighten and his body trembles as tears flow freely from those