The queen and her court readied, donning weapons like some people adorned themselves with jewelry, moving about in question and answer to one another. So similar, to her Thirteen—similar enough that she had to turn away, ducking into the shadows of the foremast and schooling her breathing into an even rhythm. Her hands trembled. Asterin was not dead. The Thirteen were not dead. She’d kept the thoughts about it at bay. But now, with that flower-smelling wyvern vanishing over the horizon … The last piece of the Wing Leader had vanished with him.
