forthcoming,” Lorcan went on to the prince
he’d fought beside for so many centuries, who
had been as cold-hearted a bastard as Lorcan
himself until this spring. “You barely
threatened him and he sang for us. The one
who claimed Maeve was in Doranelle was still
sneering by the end.”
“I think she’s in Doranelle,” Elide cut in.
“Anneith told me to listen that day. She didn’t
the other two times.”
“It’s something to consider, yes,” Lorcan
said, and Elide’s eyes sparked with irritation.
“I see no reason to believe the gods would be
that clear.”
“Says the male who feels the touch of a
god, telling him when to run or fight,” Elide
snapped.
Lorcan ignored her, that truth. He hadn’t
felt Hellas’s touch since the Stone Marshes.
As if even the god of death was repulsed by
lily
(lily)
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