“And you have mine.”
“I’m saddling up Sorcha and headed into Witchwood Cross for the night.”
“With this storm!” Witchwood Cross was due north of Wulfsgate, at the base of the mountain where the sorcerers did whatever it was they did. But Witchwood Cross, for her husband, was a place of reflection. Where he could draw his bow and answers in the same held breath.
“I was born in a storm,” Holden replied, with a wry, distant smile. “And, Guardians willing, I will die in one.”
Eavan lowered herself into the hot spring with all the enjoyment of a man served warm food after a stint in a prison camp. Lisbet told her as much. Eavan swatted at the snowy air in protest, rolling her head back against the cool stone.
“How is this different than you always wanting to climb to the tops of trees in W
