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A sound idea, and one Aedion had
contemplated. Yet to convince Darrow ...
He’d head to the other camp tomorrow,
perhaps catch Darrow before he returned to
the capital. Once he saw to it that the injured
were being cared for.
But it seemed Darrow didn’t want to wait
for the morning.
“General Ashryver.” A male voice sounded
from outside—young and calm.
Aedion grunted in answer, and it was
certainly not Darrow who entered, but a tall,
dark-haired, and gray-eyed man. No armor,
though his mud-splattered dark clothes
revealed a toned body beneath. A letter lay in
his hands, which he extended to Aedion as he
crossed the tent with graceful ease, then
bowed.
Aedion took the letter, his name written on
it in Darrow’s handwriting.