Teighlar’s hand whipped out and grabbed her neck. He squeezed hard. “Lowen. The truth will kill her.”
“I promise to protect her from them. And I swear she is safe from me.” She did not move under the hurtful grip.
“Not good enough.” He increased the strength of his hold.
“It will have to be,” she gargled. “Let go now.”
He responded by placing his other hand around the back of her neck and applying greater pressure. His eyes challenged.
Into that cavern of magic great shadows unfurled. Mighty wings soared out and only when he had marked their presence did he release her. He smiled, a predator’s grimace.
“Nice to meet you, Lowen Dalrish.” Teighlar stood, stretched, and strode from the chamber.
She swore. The man was too clever by far. She stared at the exit opposite, without seeing it. Once, in the city of Menllik, now destroyed, she told Torrullin of the dark wings inside her. Today she wore them on the outside as well.
Destiny was a bitch.