"The Inquisitor is dead." Damaged causeway. Your daughter is also in the rubble.
Lord Thorne climbed onto the main gatehouse's command platform and heard the scout's horrified whisper. For thirty years, the Blackclaw Alpha had ruled with confidence and might. Now he could feel the ground shaking. He clutched the wooden barrier with white fingers.
Below him, fighting continued, but the Frostfang attack slowed. The line held because of her. The wall whispers were drowned out by a gray ghost barking commands and a frigid voice that corrected mistakes. The traitor drew his soldiers' attention. And it worked.
She had killed the King's ghost. From then on, no escape. Not for her. Not any of them.
Thorne moved away from the battle, thinking about strategy and survival. The King's rage would r
