shoulder to where the King of Adarlan stood
amongst the rest of her Thirteen, entertaining
Vesta by summoning flame, water, and ice to
his cupped palm. A small display of a terrible,
wondrous magic. He set three whorls of the
elements lazily dancing around each other,
and Vesta arched an impressed brow. Manon
had seen the way the red-haired sentinel
looked at him, had noted that Vesta wisely
refrained from acting on that desire.
Manon had given her no such orders,
though. Hadn’t said anything to the Thirteen
about what, exactly, the human king was to
her.
Nothing, she wanted to say. Someone as
unmoored as she. As quietly angry. And as
pressed for time. Finding the third and final
Wyrdkey had proved futile. The two the king
carried in his pocket offered no guidance, only
their unearthly reek. Where Erawan kept it,
lily
(lily)
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