“He’s trying to goad me into attacking,” Morgan said, irritably, as she prowled before her desk. She’d summoned Luke from her bath, taking only enough time to throw on a gray robe that clung distractingly to her damp skin.
“Perhaps he wants to draw you out of camp.”
“My thought as well.” She paused, hands resting on her hips. “He wants the Queen. But why now?”
The ground quivered beneath their feet, followed by the patter of rain from unseen storm clouds above. Morgan’s eyes widened. “She’s a Storm-Speaker!”
“I thought none remain.”
“Apparently the Council lied. Explains Fiaena’s behavior.”
(Written for The Prediction. Challenge words: cloud, quiver, remain)