Wrath of Lions

Начало книги

Oris Mori stood at the edge of a pond deep within the forest behind Mori Manor and watched the water ripple as he threw small stones into it.

“I miss him still,” said Alexander from beside him.

Oris turned to gaze at the boy, a near perfect mix of his parents. He had Yenge’s thin nose and kinky-curly black hair and Vulfram’s broad shoulders, rigid jaw, and soulful hazel eyes. Alexander’s hands were also like his father’s, thick fingers meant for gripping a sword’s handle. Oris stared down at his own hand as he bounced a stone in his palm. The flesh was scarred and rippled, forever misshapen by the fire that had charred his body, leaving him in constant pain. Once those hands had been perfect. Once they had been just as strong as Vulfram’s had been, which was quite strong indeed.

He let out a sigh.

“I know,” he told his nephew. “I miss him as well.”

“Will they send his body soon?” Alexander asked. “It has been six months. Mother promised they would send his body. All of their bodies.”

Читать дальше →