their sides, ready for the signal to fly.
A signal from Bronwen, from the carved
horn at her side. The horn was cracked and
browned with age, the symbols carved into it
so worn they were barely visible.
Noting Manon’s stare, Bronwen said, “A
relic from the old kingdom. It belonged to
Telyn Vanora, a young, untried warrior during
the last days of the war, who was near the
gates when Rhiannon fell. My ancestor.” She
ran a hand over the horn. “She blew this horn
to warn our people that Rhiannon had been
killed, and to flee the city. Just after she got
out the warning call, the Blueblood Matron
slaughtered her. But it gave our people enough
time to run. To survive.” Silver lined
Bronwen’s dark eyes. “It is my honor to blow
this horn again today. Not to warn our people,
but to rally them.”
None of the Thirteen looked Bronwen’s
lily
(lily)
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