A Marriage of Swords
Makil said, his voice tight.
“It doesn’t need to be,” Valerius said. “The fletching. Raven feathers, dyed green. The sigil of House Gryffen.”
“He’s threatening retribution,” Arlen said, his hand going to his sword.
“Not just a threat,” Leigh said, her mind, always seeing patterns, clicking the pieces into place. ” ‘You have taken something of the mountain.’ The firestone? The peace? No.” Her eyes went wide with dawning horror. She looked at the arrow again, then at her father. “He’s not talking to Makil. He’s talking tous. To our family. ’The mountain will take something of yours.’” Her blood ran cold. “The Hold. He’s going to attack the Hold.”