didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“We were just debating it,” Sorrel
answered, the Third’s face stony but open.
Behind them, Vesta swore as the buckle on
her saddle came undone. Dorian didn’t dare to
look, to confirm that the invisible hands of his
magic had worked.
“We already searched north of here,”
Asterin said. “Let’s keep heading south—
make it to the end of the Fangs before we
backtrack.”
“They might not even be in the
mountains,” Sorrel countered. “We’ve hunted
them in the lowlands in decades past.”
Manon listened with a cool, unruffled
expression. As she did every morning.
Weighing their words, listening to the wind
that sang to her.
Imogen’s saddlebag snapped free of its
tether. The witch hissed as she dismounted to
lily
(lily)
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