Dorian bursts into the room without knocking, and I know before he says a single word that whatever news he's carrying is worse than anything the council has thrown at me so far.
"Riders," he says, breathless, "but not the council's. Kael's."
The house goes cold around me in a way that has nothing to do with the fire burning low in the hearth. Aria's hand finds mine without either of us deciding it should, the bond between us pulling tight the way it does whenever danger gets close enough to smell.
"How many?" I ask.
"More than a scouting party. This is a real force, Lucian. Dorian's man counted at least thirty, moving fast, cutting through the northern pass instead of the road, which means they're avoiding the council patrols on purpose." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully,
