Vanya turned away from her to face the forecourt and the wings of the Imperial palace. The stars above were fading, predawn light turning the world an eerie gray, all soft shadows as the sun waited to rise beyond the horizon. The Legion, with Soren’s expert aid, had managed to seal many revenants inside the palace. The only warden left in Calhames couldn’t help with their eradication without proving the wardens had broken the Poison Accords just as badly as Solaria had.
But Vanya could see to himself and his House.
He closed his eyes, thinking about the history that had lived and died in the walls of the Imperial palace. He thought about the dead that had been buried for so long, trapped in coffins the way they were trapped by the city walls in Rixham to the south.
Solaria had broken the Poison Accords in the Houses’ need to please the Dawn Star. The hubris of ruling, of keeping to tradition, had ultimately become a debt every major House had carried in secret.
The dead were always supposed to be burned.
So Vanya burned them.
He cast starfire as wide as it would go, catching the palace up in flames, pushing it ever inward to eat through walls that had held up an empire for Ages. Vanya turned the palace into a pyre until not even the bones of its foundation remained.
All that was left as the sun rose was ash and memory dancing on the wind.
