The fortress was still swaying a little. Torn and half-burned, smoke coiled through the broken archways where banners once hung, muttering like the ghosts of an ancient country that had attempted to withstand the storm for too long.

Elaria walked beside Draven down the main hall toward the council chamber. She could feel every splinter of him via the bond, the steady burn of anguish, the constraint, the rage he buried under that incredible serenity, even if his limp was now small and concealed ...