The wind above Fangreach was turning chilly, and across it slid the smell of rain and something older—a whiff of terror I couldn't shake. I was standing at the small window of my chamber gazing at the clouds which hung around us, a sullen pack of storm-scared wolves. I was still sore all over from the tower's collapse, but the real pain was in my head: six days now, until the twin moons, until a prophecy said only then, only there, could the Wolf King be unmade.
Kael's tap sounded gentle, but it echoed over every murmur of thought. He came in softly, and there was concern in the lines upon his face. "Dorian's waiting," he said.
I nodded, snugging my cloak around me. "I'll be there in a moment."
He hesitated. "Are you well enough?"
I forced a smile. "As well as I need to be."
