The gates of Cumoreen opened with a hiss.
Two great serpents carved from midnight stone peeled back from the gate like lids removed from an eye, their jeweled sockets glittering open as the boy approached. The air shimmered with venomous humidity, thick and heady as the visitor walked in. He moved with an old calm that denied his age of twelve years. Tall and lean, he carried the kind of stillness that made warriors glance twice.
Ligon’s cloak was ash-grey, his stance proud though his boots were caked with road dust. The guards hissed warnings in the old serpent tongue as he threaded the aisle toward the council, yet he walked as if the warnings were only wind grazing his earlobe irritably. He only tilted his head slightly in their direction, emerald eyes cold as a forge as he barely ac
