![]() The space between the stone columns shimmered. He drew up ropes of magic, filling the air with his signature of storms and metal, and twisted. His touch fell upon a stone acorn buried among the leaves. There were no oaks in Faerie, but this Gate did not lead to one of Faerie's many kingdoms. He ran his fingers down the stone columns, savouring their palpable anticipation, following the pattern of oak leaves. Still, his court did not need to know that. Obviously, he would not try this publicly without being certain of the result he’d run his own private tests last night. ![]() A well-trained court was truly a thing of joy, but they need not have worried. ![]() They knew not to distract him-or risk drawing his ire if the Gate resisted him again. Behind him, his court's interest sharpened, but not a wing, tail, horn, or ear among its various members twitched. He fanned out his wings in a glory of silver and crimson feathers. For three centuries, the Gate had stood firm against everything he could throw at it. King Aeros approached the Gate, boots echoing on the polished marble floor. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.Ĭover Design © Jennifer Zemanek/Seedlings Design StudioĢ9. To Cilla, who read it first, and Carla, who read it longest. ![]()
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