Whispers rippled through the vaulted stone halls like a sudden wind.
Maids froze in the archways, dropping linen baskets and brass pitchers to curtsy low to the floor; veteran sentries along the high gallery fell to one knee, bowing their heads in deep, solemn reverence. The lost heir of Quastrax had returned.
Yet, as Eiravyne moved through the great hall, her dark, hollow eyes caught the sharp edges of hidden resentment.
Among the ranks of the elite guards, a few hardened faces remained stiff, their jaws locked, eyes burning with silent, bitter fury.
She didn't need to ask why. She knew what they saw when they looked at her: the woman who had dragged Urag into the dirt.
Ignoring their glares, Eiravyne stopped near the base of the grand stone staircase, swaying weakly on her bare, bruised feet.
She turned her head slightly toward the attendants gathering around them.
