CHAPTER 65

Dorian had gone to Morath.
Had flown from the camp on wings of his
own making. He would have chosen some sort
of small, ordinary bird, Manon knew.
Something even the Thirteen would not have
noted.
Manon stood at the edge of the outlook,
gazing eastward.
Crunching snow told her Asterin
approached. “He left, didn’t he.”
She nodded, unable to find words. She had
offered him everything, and had thought he’d
meant to accept it. Had thought he did accept