of his arms. “Ready?”
“We’re running low on arrows,” Petrah
Blueblood said to Manon in the blue-gray
light just before dawn. They strode through
the makeshift aerie atop one of the castle’s
towers. “We might want to consider assigning
some of the lesser covens to stay behind today
to craft more.”
“Do it,” Manon said, surveying the still-
unfamiliar wyverns who shared the space with
Abraxos. Her mount was already awake.
Staring out, solitary and cold, toward the
battlefield beyond the city walls. Toward the
blasted stretch of earth that no snow had been
able to wipe away entirely.
She’d spent hours staring at it. Could
barely pass over it during the endless fighting
each day.
Her chest, her body, had been hollowed