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Erawan’s crowned rider. His Wing Leader.
“Don’t burn them,” Manon said.
Silence fell in the clearing.
But Manon knelt on the festering earth,
unsheathed her iron nails, and began digging.
Yanking off her gloves, Asterin lowered
herself to the ground nearby. Then Sorrel and
Vesta. Then the rest of the Thirteen.
The cold, firm earth did not yield easily. It
tore at Manon’s fingers, root and rock burning
as they scraped at her skin.
Across the clearing, Karsyn, the witch
whose broom Manon had returned, made to
kneel as well. But Manon held up a filthy,
already bleeding hand. The witch halted.
“Only the Thirteen,” Manon said. “We will
bury them.” The Crochans stared at her, and
Manon ripped away the ancient soil. “We’ll
bury all of them.”