“Who wants me dead?”
My words echoed harder than I meant them to, bouncing off the stone walls of the old shrine.
Kael kept his distance. I hated that—I wanted to shake him, force him to look at me with something other than that unreadable mask. He just stood there, silent, letting my frustration fill the room.
So I moved closer. “Who?”
He opened his mouth. “Lyra—”
“No.” I cut him off. “You don’t get to hide behind my name. Not anymore.”
He actually looked a little thrown. “Do what?”
“Say my name whenever you want to dodge a question.” I folded my arms, but it didn’t make me feel any stronger, just cold. The draft from the hidden chamber wrapped around us. I kept glancing back at the portrait, the woman in it…my perfect reflection, a stranger wearing my face. The Last Moon Weaver.
