Valtira.
I had not stopped riding.
Not once.
The wind had clawed at my face as Martha’s horse tore through the darkening paths, hooves striking the earth with a rhythm that matched the violent pounding of my heart. By the time the borders of the pack came into view, night had already swallowed the sky, just as I had hoped.
Darkness was a cloak.
And tonight, I needed one.
Only one thought battered relentlessly against my skull:
Raven was last seen speaking with a woman.
I had known immediately who that woman was.
Lyssandra.
Of course she had returned.
She would never settle for my denial, not when suspicion had already rooted itself inside her. She would want proof, something she could hold and parade before the world.
But never, not even in my worst imagining, had I thought she
