Selene stirred faintly at the back of his mind, not speaking, only lending warmth like a hand pressed over a bleeding wound. Lindarion didn't summon her voice. Not yet. He didn't need reassurance, only steel.
The humans exchanged fearful glances. Some muttered prayers under their breath. Others gripped their blades tighter, as if steel could shield them from the weight of a name older than their bloodlines.
Nysha finally spoke, her voice low, taut. "If Dythrael moves behind all of this, then Maeven is only the smoke before the fire. You knew this."
Lindarion's gaze locked with hers. "I've known since the first corpses twisted into beasts. Maeven has rage, but no craft. Only a leash could teach him to break flesh that way. And only one leash has ever taught it."
Nysha's shadows writhed against the stone, restless, hungry. "And you—what is your plan? Strike at the dog while the master waits?"
