The farther north they had flown, the more
Crochans had fallen into the lines. As if the
crown of stars Manon wore was a lodestone,
summoning them to her.
Every mile, more appeared from the
clouds, the mountains, the forest. Young and
old, wise-eyed or fresh-faced, they came.
Until five thousand trailed behind Manon
and the Thirteen.
“They’ve completely stopped,” breathed
the shape-shifter beside Aedion, pointing
toward the battlefield.
Far out, Morath’s host had halted.
Utterly halted. As if in doubt and shock.
“Your grandmother is with them,” Asterin
murmured to Manon. “I can feel it.”
“I know.” Manon turned to the young
general-prince. “We shall handle the
Ironteeth.”
His turquoise eyes were bright as the day
lily
(lily)
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