The Prisoner’s Throne

But on her back are two feathered wings, light blue gray at the tips, with darker feathers closer to her body, and when they unfurl, they are large enough to canopy him, Bex, and Wren.

Jude is a consummate liar.

We can wait,” Cardan said. “But not long.”

Jude frowned. “If she steps from that Citadel, I will cut her throat from ear to ear.”

Cardan drew a dramatic line across his throat and then slumped exaggeratedly over, eyes closed, mouth open. Playing dead.

Jude scowled. “You need not make fun.”

“Have I ever told you how much you sound like Madoc when you talk about murder?” Cardan said, opening one eye. “Because you do.”

Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. “That must be what you like about me.”

“That you’re terrifying?” he asked, his drawl becoming exaggeratedly languorous, almost a purr. “I adore it.”