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him, invisible hands eager to crack bone.
Not that there was any life to steal from
Kaltain Rompier.
Yet she still held up a slender hand, her
gauzy dress and silken hair floating on a
phantom wind. “I mean you no harm.”
“I didn’t summon you.” It was the only
thing he could think to say.
Kaltain’s dark eyes slid toward Damaris,
jutting from the circle of Wyrdmarks. “Didn’t
you?”
He didn’t want to contemplate why or how
the sword had somehow called her, not Gavin.
Whether the sword had a will of its own, or
whether the god who’d blessed it had
orchestrated this meeting. For whatever truth
it deemed necessary to show him.
“I thought you were destroyed at Morath,”
he rasped.
“I was.” Her face was softer than he’d ever