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in death. Freed from her terrible torment.
Shock had rooted Manon to the spot.
Then she’d heard of Dorian’s plans to
infiltrate Morath. Morath, where the third and
final Wyrdkey was kept. He’d known, and
hadn’t told her.
Kaltain had vanished into the night air and
then Dorian had shifted. Into a beautiful,
proud raven.
He hadn’t been training to entertain
himself. Not at all.
Manon snarled, “When, exactly, were you
going to inform me that you were about to
retrieve the third Wyrdkey?”
Dorian blinked at her, his face the portrait
of calm assurance. “When I left.”
“When you flew off as a raven or a wyvern,
right into Erawan’s net?”
The temperature in the clearing plunged.
“What difference does it make if I told you