Her warrior-hearted mount. Who had saved her far more than she had ever saved him. Who had saved her in the ways that counted most. “PLEASE.” She screamed it—screamed it with every scrap of her shredded soul. Iskra only laughed. And the bull did not let go, even as Abraxos tried and tried to get them closer to the ground. Her tears ripped away in the wind, and Manon freed the last of the buckles on her saddle. The gap between the wyverns was impossible, but she had been lucky before. She didn’t care about any of it. The Wastes, the Crochans and Ironteeth, her crown. She didn’t care about any
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