First, she’d fed the boy.
No ice flowed in her veins.
“Go now,” said the voice, “Before it fully wakes.”
A body had been dragged through the door.
Mirella’s heart began to pound. It was the voice that had caused her to be driven from home.
The crowd was a river of confusion, winding its way to the banquet hall.
“I have seen this man,’ Mirella paused, pointing at Oren Hunter, “Standing guard on the Jutting Rock since my twelfth summer.”
“You are a mere girl,” sneered Sarris. “What can you know?”
“It is mine now. Have no fear.”
Oren surveyed the King. William sat on the throne, hardly more than a skeleton in a wash of robes.