Then Vesta, roaring her defiance to the
skies.
And then Sorrel. Sorrel, who held the way
open for Asterin, a solid wall for Manon’s
Second as she soared in. A wall against whom
the waves of Ironteeth broke and broke.
The young witch inside the tower began
glowing black, steps from the pit.
Beside Manon, Lysandra and Aedion
wrapped their arms around each other. Ready
for the end heartbeats away.
And then Asterin was there. Asterin was
barreling toward that open stretch of air, for
the tower itself, bought with the lives of the
Thirteen. With their final stand.
Manon could only watch, watch and watch
and watch, shaking her head as if she could
undo it, as Asterin removed her leathers, the
shirt beneath.
As Asterin rose in the saddle, freed of the
lily
(lily)
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