gauntlet-covered fingers pressing into the iron
slab beneath her.
One last chance.
She’d seen the stars overhead. It was as
great a gift as any she’d received, greater than
the jewels and gowns and art she’d once
coveted and amassed in Rifthold. The last gift
she would receive, if she played the hand
she’d been dealt. If she played him right.
To end this, end her. Before Maeve could
put the Wyrdstone collar around her neck.
Dawn neared, the stars dimming one by one.
Rowan lurked by the southernmost
entrance to the camp, his power thrumming.
Cairn’s tent lay in the center of the camp.
A mile and a half lay between Rowan and his
prey.
When the guards began their shift change,
he’d rip the air from their lungs. Would rip