“We’re still going to kill her,” I said. “The Heartsore Weaver. We’ll kill her, and then we’ll go to Aisling.” My voice hardened. “I want to look the abbess in the eye before we rid Traum of its final Omen.” “That’s all well and good,” the gargoyle said from the corner of the room. He shook a blanket at me. “But who’s going to tuck me in?”
