“I failed you, Lady Herne.” Guilt burrowed in Soho’s face. “I couldn’t bring him to you safely.”
“He jumped?” Surprise was an understatement on Herne’s teardrop face, shining brighter than the jewels hanging from her diadem, as strong as the motherly displeasure hearing of the reckless feats of her son.
“He survives,” Soho said no less bleak.
“How?” Herne asked what no volyr of that stature didn’t know herself, yet when it came to Syril, there was no detail she could miss.
“The defenders found him lying in his true form. Can you believe it, Lady Herne? Complete full form. He hasn’t done that in ages." To not horrify her more, he cut his description short. “Thankfully more damage was done to the land they fell on. His regrowth is remarkable, probably due to the nectar.”
Her green cry
