The first the wind spoke, Cassie was harvesting late plums in the orchard, shaking her hands.
It wasn't the wind that startled her but the song. Light at first, as the buzzing of bees among the branches. Then layered, as a chorus of a dozen voices singing through the leaves in a strange language.
"Vael esh…Thornek varan…"
She froze, plum falling from her hand.
"Hello?" she breathed.
No reply.
But the air was thickened and filled with something from outside this time. Smoke and honey. Ash and roses.
Then, as if nothing had ever occurred at all, the wind died down. The whispers stopped.
---
Cassie spotted Lark before she even made it through the gates.
He stood at the top of manor stairs, folded arms, steel-forged eyes.
For a moment, she was afraid he would lunge at her, ordering
