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“No,” Fenrys breathed.
There, galloping across the plain on a
familiar black horse, was Elide.
“Farasha,” Chaol murmured.
“She’ll be killed,” said Gavriel, tensing as
if he might jump off the battlements and
chase after her. “She’ll be—”
Farasha leaped over fallen bodies, weaving
between the injured and dead, Elide twisting
this way and that in the saddle. And from the
distance, Rowan could make out her mouth
moving, shouting one word, one name, over
and over. Lorcan.
“If any of you go down there,” Hasar
warned, “you’ll be killed, too.”
It went against every instinct, against the
centuries of training and fighting he’d done
with Lorcan, but the princess was right. To
lose one life was better than several.
Especially when he would need his cadre so