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audience, Blackbeak.”
Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as
paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see
every shifting movement in the crowd, the
wide eyes or hands gripping swords.
“I will not tell you the particulars of who I
am,” Manon said at last. “For I think you have
already heard them.”
“Crochan bitch,” someone spat.
Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks,
stone-faced where the others bristled with
hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them
she had come here.
“All my life,” Manon said, her voice
wavering only slightly, “I have been fed a
lie.”
“We don’t have to listen to this trash,”
another sentinel spat.
Asterin snarled at Manon’s side, and the
others fell silent. Even disgraced, the Thirteen