“Possibly it’s a trap,” said Altan. But Rin was looking past the flag at a face in the ranks—a boy, a beautiful boy with the palest skin and lovely almond eyes, walking on his own two legs as if his spine had never been severed. As if he had never been impaled on a general’s halberd. As if he could sense her gaze, Nezha looked up. Their eyes met under the moonlight. Rin’s heart leaped. The Dragon Warlord had responded to the call. The Seventh Division was here. “That’s not a trap,” she said.
