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The Crochans. The other half of her
heritage.
“We move on your command,” Sorrel said,
a careful nudge.
Manon drew in a breath, willing the snow-
laced wind to keep her cold and steady during
this next encounter. And what would come
after.
“No nails or teeth,” Manon ordered the
Thirteen. Then she looked over her shoulder
once more to the king and spider. “You may
stay here, if you wish.”
Dorian gave her a lazy smile. “And miss
the fun?” Yet she caught the gleam in his eye
—the understanding that perhaps he alone
could grasp. That she was not just about to
face an enemy, but a potential people. He
subtly nodded. “We all go in.”
Manon merely nodded back and rose. The
Thirteen stood with her.