XXIX

     "His mercy be pruned."

      She was already out of the castle. Out of the Monarch's castle. Out of the Monarch's rusty rage. And she could feel that. Not the rage, nor freedom but the sense of peace. She felt good. Really good. She always did. Her sense of pain had been pored evenly and she was a product of whatever she saw or saw. The dark dust of her actions most times foiled her vision, but she had learnt to manage them. She had learnt to make rage of them. And she'd learnt to make confetti of whoever was present when she plied such rotten route. Ah! She was a stray of wit.

       That lad should be there. Of course she had told him to meet her at the Monarch's castle. Probably he had never stuck to taunting time. Probably he was a by product of assumptions of lured lateness. She would take everything but those. She looked through the plain before the castle. F