Chapter 21

Third POV

The silence in Mira’s room was a presence, a fourth occupant that breathed where she no longer could. Lyra stood alone, her healer’s senses still buzzing from the failed battle, her hands resting on the now-still form beneath the sheet.

The scent of death, of corrupted magic and bitter herbs, clung to the air, a cloying perfume of failure.

Her gaze swept the room, not seeing the opulence, but the evidence. This was not just a sickroom; it had been a stage. And every ...