leave with a bride.”
He nearly sagged with relief. “I will leave
with both. And quickly.”
“And how do you propose we are to find
what we seek?”
Dorian smiled at the Fae Queen. The Valg
Queen. “Leave that to me.”
Atop Morath’s highest tower hours later,
Dorian peered at the army campfires littering
the valley floor, his raven’s feathers ruffled in
the frozen wind off the surrounding peaks.
The screams and snarling had quieted, at
least. As if even Morath’s dungeon-masters
maintained ordinary hours of working. He
might have found the idea darkly funny, if he
didn’t know what manner of thing was being
broken and bred here.
His cousin, Roland, had wound up here. He
knew it, though no one had ever confirmed it.