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light. Let it flow through her.
Rattle the stars. She’d promised to do that.
Had done so much toward it, yet more
remained. They had to hurry. How many
suffered at Morath’s claws?
Beauty remained—and she would fight for
it. Needed to fight.
It was a constant thrum in her blood, her
bones. Right alongside the power that she
shoved down deep and dismissed with each
breath. Fight—one last time.
She’d escaped so she might do it. Would
think of all those still defying Morath, defying
Maeve, while she trained. She wouldn’t
hesitate. Didn’t dare to pause.
She’d make this time count. In every way
possible.
The emerald on her marriage band
glistened with its own fire.
Selfish of her, to enforce that bond when