"Mother Supreme," Raelana breathed, immediately dropping to one knee.
The respect in her voice bordered on worship.
Darian's hand went to his sword, then hesitated, clearly recognizing this was a threat so far beyond his capabilities that drawing steel would be meaningless.
Morgana's entire body had gone rigid, her expression cycling through shock, fear, and something else—guilt, perhaps, or resignation.
Wendelina—for that was who this could only be—surveyed the scene with those penetrating purple eyes. She took in the destroyed village, the bodies of the Ki'thara, the scorched remains where Hilda had stood, and Vasthren's smoking corpse. Her gaze lingered on Baren, still being tended by the Raelana, then swept across the group until it settled on the temple entrance.
Where Jaenor was standing, still holding his sword, his body still marked with the evidence of battle.
The Mother Supreme's eyes narrowed.
