Truce

Eleven years of war. One night of snow. One woman standing between them.

Maren Solvik is thirty-two, a treaty-scribe from the river kingdom caught between two armies, and she has climbed the Kestrel Pass alone in emerald velvet to make peace in a ruined elven temple. A riot of copper-red curls, green eyes, freckles from her cheeks to her bare shoulders, curves no gown has ever entirely tamed, and a mind sharp enough to read the words carved into an altar everyone else forgot.

Korvath of the G...