SEVEN
Lord Faigen’s metal gauntlet clicks and clanks as he leans into me. He doesn’t have a scratch or a stain on his armor, which makes me doubt his story about fighting the dragons in Salcom village. “I hope the sun isn’t burning your complexion. You’re used to carriages.”
He thinks carriages made my skin so light? Perhaps he should try living in a cave for the rest of his life. My amusement fades as we ride past the Volcourt Inn. The same window I crawled through to escape is now drawn with thick, navy curtains
“Do you want me to stop here, instead?” Faigen asks.
“No, thank you.” I grip him tighter. Adom isn’t there, so I shouldn’t be frightened. And yet, the bones in my back align one after another until I am stick stiff.
The first time I met Theodore, he was reveling in poetry at
