The doors to the drawing room had barely clicked shut behind Varon's retreating form when they were thrown open again with the violence of a gale. The heavy oak panels thudded against the stone walls, and the sudden influx of air made the candles flicker and hiss.
Isella burst in first. Her hair was disheveled, and her hands were still faintly shimmering with the residue of the defensive magic she had gathered the moment she heard a Vernhardt was on the grounds. Behind her, Mina moved like a hunting cat, her hand white-knuckled on the hilt of her sword, her eyes scanning every corner of the room for a threat that was no longer physically present. Yelena entered last, her pace measured and regal, but the set of her jaw was as hard as the Northern glaciers.
"What did that snake say to you?" Isella demanded, rushing to Verona's side and grabbing her by the shoulders. "Verona, look at me. You're as white as a sheet. You look like you've seen a ghost."
