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Thank the gods for that.
The war tent was nearly full, lords and
princes and commanders gathered around the
center of the space, all studying the map of
the continent hanging from one of the wall
flaps. Pins jutted from its thick canvas to
mark various armies.
So many, too many, clustered in the South.
Blocking off aid from any allies beyond
Morath’s lines.
“She returns at last,” a cold voice drawled.
Lysandra summoned a lazy smirk and
sauntered to the center of the room, Ansel
lingering near the entrance. “I heard I missed
some fun yesterday. I figured I’d return before
I lost the chance to kill some Valg grunts
myself.”
A few chuckles at that, but Darrow didn’t
smile. “I don’t recall you being invited to this
meeting, Your Highness.”