All that was left was a shadow of the grave that had been. A hole in the ancient cemetery, blank and empty in the crowded rows of crumbling stone.
She stared at the unexpected patch of grass for a long moment, then rubbed the small stone medallion, hanging from her neck on a braided leather cord, in half-conscious prayer. He had done it, somehow, erased van Peter’s death, undid the travesty that had been dealt their sire. The war, dead with Van Peter these hundred years would bloom to life again.
And she would have her revenge.