Beyond the Night
“Never. Because now—with the rush and chaos of the Queen’s return and all it entailed: the entourage, the streets full of passersby waving and cheering, the bobbies, the palace guards—it was so crowded it was impossible to detect anything or anyone.
He curved his way around the crowd, a tiny, black sliver of a shadow that no one noticed flying overhead.
Senna had not been at her post on the town-house roof when he finally got back there. She had not been anywhere in the house, nor had been Charles. Peter, however, was abed in the coffin, wrapped in the rotting shroud, when Dominick found him.
Peter was dying.
The night of violence at Drom Manor and the knife wounds Senna had inflicted—or the flat rock that she had heaved at his head—had obviously damaged his organs and his brain irreparably, and all the coffin regeneration in the world could not save him now.
“Forgive me for not standing,”
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