word the spider had spoken had been truth.
And this ... A way into Morath—as
something else entirely. In another’s skin.
Perhaps a human slave, like Elide Lochan.
Someone whose presence would go unmarked.
His raw power had lent itself to every other
form of magic, able to move between flame
and ice and healing. To shape-shift ... might
he learn it, too?
Dorian only asked the spider, “Do you have
a name?”
“A king without his crown asks for a lowly
spider’s name,” she murmured, her depthless
eyes setting on him. “You cannot pronounce it
in your tongue, but you may call me Cyrene.”
Manon ground her teeth. “It doesn’t matter
what we call you, as you’ll be dead soon.”
But Dorian cut her a sidelong glance. “The
Ruhnns are a part of my kingdom. As such,
Cyrene is one of my subjects. I think that
lily
(lily)
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