Getting angry at Molly wasn't going to help anything. Phaedra kept her voice even.
"I know."
She didn't take Molly's hand right away. "Three hundred years" was all she said. Phaedra wondered if Molly could fathom that. To suddenly have someone there that'd been gone that long, even if all they were was a vulgar echo.
A slight smile crept over her face as Phaedra realized what she should do. She took Molly's hand.
Behind her, every single member of her order that lost their life the night she died materialized, weapons in hand. They did not look pleased. It happened one by one, and each man was detailed down to the last jot. So were the horses.