The battlefield was quiet now. Just wind and the smell of blood freezing in the cold.
Reign stood among the bodies, breathing steady, eyes fixed on the horizon where Lyra had disappeared. Around her, the ground had turned to glass from the frost she'd unleashed. Thirteen rogues dead. Not one had landed a serious blow.
That should have bothered her more than it did.
She knelt and pressed her palm flat against the snow. Frost spread outward from her touch, not wild this time but controlled. Deliberate. It formed patterns in the ice, flowing and branching until a shape emerged.
A wolf's head in profile, jaws open, eyes that glowed faint blue. The mark of the Glaciara bloodline, the same crest that had been burned from her wrist months ago.
Now she was carving it into battlefields.
Let t
