Nesryn kissed her aunts petal-soft cheek. You are more beautiful now than you were when I was a child. She meant it.
Someones making a move this way, Lorcan murmured to Gavriel. But Whitethorns still over there.Fenrys. Or Connall, perhaps. Maybe Essars sister, who hed never liked. But he wouldnt give a shit about that if she hadnt betrayed them.
He pointed north of the entrance. You take that side. Be ready to strike from the flank.Gavriel sped off, a predator ready to pounce unseen when Lorcan attacked head-on.Death glimmered. Whitethorn was nearly at the camps center. And that force approaching their eastern entrance …
To hell with waiting.Lorcan broke from the cover of trees, dark power swirling, primed to meet whatever broke through the line of tents.
Freeing the sword at his side, he searched the sky, the camp, the world as death flickered, as the rising sun gilded the rolling grasses and set the dew steaming.
Nothing. No indication of what, of who—The northern aerial cavalry of his people had long dwelled in the towering Tavan Mountains with their ruks: enormous birds, eagle-like in shape, large enough to carry off cattle and horses. Without the sheer bulk and destructive weight of the Ironteeth witches wyverns, but swift and nimble and clever as foxes. The perfect mounts for the legendary archers who flew them into battle.
Sartaqs face was solemn, his broad shoulders thrown back. A man perhaps as ill at ease in his fine clothes as Chaol. She wondered if his ruk, Kadara, was perched on one of the palaces thirty-six minarets, eyeing the cowering servants and guards, waiting impatiently for her masters return.That Sartaq was here … They had to have known, then. Well in advance. That she and Chaol were coming.
The knowing glance that passed between Sartaq and Hasar told Nesryn enough: they, at least, had discussed the possibilities of this visit.Sartaqs gaze slid from his sister to Nesryn.