on the land below.
Lysandra could barely draw in breath, each
flap of her wings heavier than the last as she
aimed for the place where she’d seen Manon
Blackbeak and her coven go crashing to the
castle battlements.
She’d shifted into a wyvern herself, using
the chaos of the Ironteeth rebels’ arrival as a
distraction, but the draining of her magic had
taken its toll. And the fighting, the wounds
that even she could not staunch ...
Lysandra spied the two figures hauling a
familiar golden-haired warrior up the castle
stairs just as she hit the battlements, the
witches whirling toward her.
But Lysandra willed herself to shift,
forcing her body to do it one last time, to
return to that human form. She’d barely
finished shoving on the pants and shirt she’d