Petal's POV

The morning air was cold enough to sting my lungs. Mist curled across the ground, swallowing the shapes of the stables and blurring the edge of dawn. Every breath left a cloud in front of me, but I didn’t shiver. I was too hollow for that.

Garcia had helped me pack what little I owned: a cloak, a pouch of dried herbs, and a few pieces of bread. The rest of my life stayed behind in Aslaan’s den, in the cold room that still smelled faintly of smoke and him.

The guards stood by ...