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her mouth still gaping in pain.
“I can burn them,” Dorian offered no one
in particular.
Who had she been, the warrior before her?
Who had she fought for? Not kingdoms or
rulers, but who in her life had been worth
defending?
“We should alert the King and Queen of
Eyllwe,” Bronwen was saying. “Warn their
princes, too. Tell them to lie low. Erawan is
beyond taking prisoners.”
Manon stared and stared at the slaughtered
warrior. What she had once delighted in. What
she had once flaunted before the world, and
done with not a shred of regret. Only with the
wish that her grandmother would approve.
That the Ironteeth would approve.
This was what they would be remembered
for.
What she would be remembered for.