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princesses?”
“I hope so,” Manon murmured back as they
reached the last of the witches. Karsyn. The
dark-haired Crochan was staring toward the
ring of wyverns, just where Glennis had said
she’d be.
Asterin cleared her throat, and the witch
turned, her olive-skinned face tightening.
But she didn’t sneer. Didn’t hiss.
Mission done, Asterin turned away. But
Manon said to the Crochan, jerking her chin
toward the wyverns, “It’s different from using
the brooms. Faster, deadlier, but you also have
to feed and water them.”
Karsyn’s green eyes were wary—but
curious. She glanced again at the wyverns
huddled against the cold, Asterin’s blue mare
pressed into Abraxos’s side, his wing draped
over her.
Manon said, “Erawan made them, using