Milan pressed his hand flat against the barrier and said nothing, because there was nothing useful to say and he understood that.
The gingwi looked down at Jolthar from its full height, the red eyes burning, the cold radiating from it in waves that would have been debilitating to anyone.
The courtyard beyond the domain wall was silent.
Every guest stood watching through the transparent barrier at the young Count standing alone in front of something that had no business existing in the middle of a capital city celebration.
The creature movements were like nothing Jolthar had seen before.
Every opponent he had dealt with — nynthralls, dukes, Yan — had form. Substance. Something that could be read, anticipated, or struck.
