But Manon swung her sword, again and
again, iron on steel ringing out across the icy
peaks.
No, she was not afraid at all.
Dorian had never seen fighting like what
unfolded before him. Had never seen anything
that fast, that lethal.
Had never seen anyone move like Manon, a
whirlwind of steel and iron.
Three against one—the odds weren’t in her
favor. Not when standing against one of them
had left Manon on death’s threshold months
earlier.
Yet where they struck, she was already
gone. Already parrying.
She did not land many blows, but rather
kept them at bay.
Yet they did not land many, either.
Dorian’s magic writhed, seeking a way out,