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“We will lose this war if I do not go,” he
snapped. “How do you not care about that?”
“I care,” she hissed. “I care if we lose this
war. I care if I fail to rally the Crochans. I
care if you go into Morath and do not return,
not as something worth living.” He only
blinked. Manon spat on the mossy ground.
“Now do you wish to tell me that caring is not
such a bad thing? Well, this is what comes of
it.”
“This is why I didn’t say anything,” he
breathed.
Her heart turned raging, its pulse echoing
through her body, though her words were cold
as ice. “You wish to go to Morath?” She
prowled up to him, and he didn’t back down
an inch. “Then prove it. Prove you are ready.”
“I don’t need to prove anything to you,
witchling.”
She gave him a brutal, wicked smile. “Then