Damien’s POV:

Seated at the head of the long oak table in the council hall, I kept my fingers steepled under my chin, forcing my face into an expression of calmness while my mind raced elsewhere. The Elders were still arguing, their voices rising and falling like a poorly conducted orchestra as they talked about the exact timing of the funeral rites, the placement of the pyre, and the sequence of the mourning chants.

Every word grated against my nerves while I kept glancing toward the ...