Go, a quiet voice urged. Go now. Essar’s sister had advised to wait until dawn. When the shift was weakest. When she’d make sure certain guards didn’t arrive on time. Go now. That voice, warm and yet insistent, tugged. Pushed him toward the camp. Rowan bared his teeth, his breathing roughening. Lorcan and Gavriel would be waiting for the signal, a flare of his magic, when he got far enough into the camp. Now, Prince. He knew that voice, had felt its warmth. And if the Lady of Light herself whispered at his ear …
