22
Belik
Amir Parohim cut a nervous glance to Belik. The two of them stood together on the raised dais, dressed in finery, looking out over the remnants of the Main. The watered-down smell of smoke scratched against Belik’s lungs, but at least a cool breeze whispered through the broken panes of glass. Metal lines arched through the empty spaces like winter trees. Charred remnants of Brithnem flags still hung high above by the ceiling.
The fire hadn’t brought down the enormous statues of the founders either, but smoke had discolored them.
Sickly orange and dark gray settled into the grooves of the Scroll passage etched along the ceiling, enhancing the words. Belik pursed his mouth to look at them.
Ash—the burned remains of three thrones—had coated the floor until Belik ordered some of
