feet thick, the blocks of stone so heavy that
legend claimed Brannon had conscripted
giants from the Staghorns to heave them into
place.
Aedion would give anything for those long-
forgotten giants to find their way to the city
now. For the ancient Wolf Tribes to come
racing down the towering peaks behind the
city, the lost Fae of Terrasen with them. For
any of the old myths to emerge from the
shadows of time, as Rolfe and his Mycenians
had done.
But he knew their luck had run out.
Their companions knew it, too. Even Ansel
of Briarcliff had gone as silent as Ilias and his
assassins, her shoulders bowed. She had been
that way since the heads of her warriors had
landed amongst their ranks, her wine-red hair
dull, her steps heavy. He knew her horror, her
guilt. Wished he had a moment to comfort the
lily
(lily)
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