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and chamber and pit that reeked of pain and
fear.
What his father and Erawan had built. The
sort of kingdom he’d inherited.
The Wyrdkeys stirred, whispering. Dorian
ignored them and ran a hand over Damaris’s
hilt. The gold remained warm despite the
bitter cold.
A sword of truth, yes, but also reminder of
what Adarlan had once been. What it might
become again.
If he did not falter. Did not doubt himself.
For whatever time he had left.
He could make it right. All of it. He could
make it right.
Damaris heated in silent comfort and
confirmation.
Dorian left the small crowd of Crochans
and strode to a sliver of land overlooking a
deadly plunge to a snow-and-rock-strewn