Threading the Needle (62 page)

“I'm certain she will. But for now, we wait.”

“Wait!” Darius began pacing, hands clenching and unclenching. “I want to strangle Ty now.”

“We wait. We wait and watch and see what visions may come. We will be given a path to follow. Look at what happened with the Gorrani. Did I not foresee their destruction?”

Darius shot him a look, then halted and visibly calmed himself. “Fine, Father. We'll wait. For now.”

Dalton stood, placed a hand on Darius' shoulder in reassurance. “We will prevail. We are ordained to prevail. Now go find Dierdre. Convince her not to do anything rash regarding Marcus. Convince her to keep her rage in check. She may be able to use him to keep abreast of whatever he and Ty are planning.”

Darius nodded, then bowed his head before departing. He gave the guards outside a scathing look before closing the door behind him.

Dalton took another sip of the wine, but it tasted bitter to him. He drifted into the bedchamber, prepared himself for bed. He stared out of the high window at the black tower of the Needle and the sunset beyond, darkness descending in a flare of vibrant colors.

Then he turned and lay down on his back, eyes toward the heavens, arms at his sides.

Hours later, he drifted into sleep.

He dreamed of snakes and snarling dogs, and three piercing white stars exploding against a darkened sky.

Deep inside Erenthrall, at the center of the city, beneath the remains of the towers of Grass, the dust cloud that had risen and obscured the city after the massive quake had sunk it below the level plains had settled. Nothing stirred beneath the shattered dome of the Nexus. Bodies littered the cracked steps—one with a sword thrust through his chest, a few Wolves, the rest human. But the Wolves that had been frozen within the distortion for the past year had long ago shaken themselves off and run after being freed. They'd paused only to sniff the bodies and howl in grief and anger.

Nothing had moved since. Not here.

Until—deep in the shadow of the Amber Tower's main entrance—a
man emerged. He stepped out onto the wide steps that led up to the tower, feet kicking up plumes of the thick dust that had collected there. They swirled in the gusting breeze. He surveyed the destruction of the center of the city, his expression impassive.

Behind him, three more figures emerged. They moved with a strange smooth grace that exuded danger and death, like a blade drawn lightly down skin, drawing blood along with silvery pain.

They hesitated on the edge of the steps, then descended, passing out into the newly released city streets.

The Hounds of Erenthrall had been
unleashed.

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