Chapter 89 Witch Hunter

• *Lazlo*
• By the time we reach Virechant, the moon is high and the scent of cedar and pine cling to the folds of my cloak. My warriors ride behind me, silent and worn, their pride bruised. Even the night feels unsettled, like the wind is listening, waiting. I dismount at the gates and toss the reins to a stablehand, who flinches at my expression.
• I don’t bother washing off the dust or blood. I shove the war room doors open with both hands, the heavy oak slamming against the stone walls as I stride inside. My father looks up from the map-strewn table. His gaze sharpens when he sees me.