She stirs at the sound of my entrance, blinking slowly in the firelight. When her eyes focus on me, confusion creases her features.
"Vargath? What's wrong?"
I can't find words. How do you tell someone that the only person who showed them kindness in this gods-forsaken place has been butchered like livestock?
She sits up, the furs pooling around her waist, and the concern in her voice sharpens. "You look like you've seen death itself."
"Maedra is gone."
The words fall between us. She blinks once, twice, as if she didn't hear correctly.
"Gone where?"
"Dead. Murdered."
The color drains from her face so quickly I think she might faint. Her hand flies to her throat, fingers trembling.
"No. No, that's—she was just here. She brought me tea before I slept. She was?—"
"Someone cut her throat and painted the walls with her blood."
She makes a sound like a wounded animal and scrambles from the bed, her pregnant belly making the movement clumsy. I reach to steady her, but she pushes past me toward the door.
"I have to see her. I have to?—"
"Seris, don't."
But she's already running down the corridor, bare feet slapping against cold stone. I curse and follow, catching up as she rounds the corner to Maedra's chambers.
The crowd has grown. Warriors, servants, even a few council members mill about the doorway like carrion birds, their voices a low buzz of speculation and barely concealed excitement.
Seris pushes through them, and I see the moment she glimpses the carnage within. She goes rigid, then lets out a scream that echoes off the ancient stones—raw, primal, the sound of something breaking beyond repair.
"Get out!" She whirls on the gathered orcs, tears streaming down her face. "Get out! All of you!"
Rough laughter ripples through the crowd. One warrior—Thrakk, I think—grins with yellow teeth.
"Listen to the human giving orders. As if she has any right to speak in sacred halls."
"She was the last true elder!" Seris's voice cracks with fury and grief. "The last one who honored the gods, and you stand here like vultures!"
More laughter. Cruel, dismissive.
I step forward, letting my full height and authority fill the space. "Clear the area. Now."
The laughter dies. Warriors shuffle backward, but slowly, reluctantly. Their eyes hold no respect, only calculation. They're measuring me, wondering if I've grown weak.
"Who would dare kill an elder within temple walls?" My voice carries is full of command, but I see the truth in their faces—they don't care who did this. Some of them are probably glad.
Thrakk shrugs with theatrical indifference. "Old woman stuck her nose where it didn't belong. Bound to happen eventually."
17
SERIS
The crowd disperses like smoke, leaving only the echo of their laughter and the metallic stench of blood. I push through the doorway, my bare feet sliding on something wet and dark.
Maedra lies crumpled beneath the cold brazier, her weathered hands still clutching the hem of her ceremonial robes. The ritual scars along her arms seem deeper now, carved shadows in death. Blood pools beneath her head like spilled wine, seeping into the ancient stones.
