Chapter 217

News travels like sparks when the straw is dry.

By the time we stepped into the square—Dante two paces left of me, our hands not quite touching, Aethel a shadow where shadows love to rest, Malcor nowhere and everywhere—people already lined the edges. Justus stood with Belara. Mirella, arms crossed, head high. Marta had claimed the base of the well and installed a tray there, because no speech sho