Through the smoke, dawn sliced like a blade.
The council's vast keep was still shaking from the previous night's mayhem. The banners that hung from the tall windows swirled in a breeze that smelt of iron and frost, and the sky beyond was the color of ash, flecked with faint red like blood veins.
Elaria watched as wolves below started to congregate while she stood on the balcony above the council hall, her palms pushed against the chilly rail. Low-burning torches and murmuring voices in shifting currents of distrust were heard.
This was the silence before a hunt, not the silence before a vote.
He and she had not slept, and the tension between them was not fear but a razor-sharp focus, and Draven moved to stand next to her, his presence steady despite the fatigue lining his features.
He
