“Aedion.” He’d know that voice if he were blind. Lysandra stepped from behind a tent, her face clean despite her muddy clothes. He halted, finally feeling the weight of the dirt and gore on himself. “What.” She ignored his tone. “I could fly to Darrow tonight. Give him whatever message you want.” “He wants us to move the army back to him, and then to Orynth,” Aedion said, making to continue to Kyllian’s tent. “Immediately.” She stepped in his path. “I can go, tell him this army needs time to rest.” “Is this some attempt to reenter my good graces?” He was too tired, too weary, to bother beating
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