That was when Maeve had told Erawan to
meet. That liminal space between light and
dark, when one force yielded to another.
When she would open the portal for Dorian
from rooms away.
As the sun set—not that Dorian could see it
with the clouds and gloom of Morath—he
found himself staring at the wall of Maeve’s
chamber.
She had left minutes ago, with nothing
more than a farewell glance. Their escape
route had been plotted, an alternative with it.
All should go according to plan.
And the body he now wore, the golden hair
and golden eyes ... Should anyone but Erawan
himself stumble into the tower, they would
find it occupied by their master.
He did not have room in himself for fear,
for doubt. Did not think of the Wyrdstone
collars beneath the fortress, or every twisted
lily
(lily)
#1