Why the sixteenth patriarch of Regnor had invited him to his residence was still unclear to Umi.
Khurshid tapped her chin with the tooth of his curved sword. Umi flinched.
Umi caressed the careful stitching of petals in his fingers. Would life have felt like pink embroidery if he’d gone the path meant for him? For her, he denied. Not me. Yet here he sat in the priestess’s tower.