Even after Elaria and Draven left, the council chamber continued to reverberate with voices raised.
Only sputtering flames and the pale wash of dawn filtering in through small stone windows illuminated the thankfully dark passageways outside. Their footsteps were heavy, and their stillness was one of weight rather than ease. As wolves and attendants hurried by, some made brief bows, while others gave cautious nods or glares of distrust.
Elaria walked with her red robes whispering around her ankles, her chin held high. Inside, the strain of keeping herself together made her chest hurt. Even though there had been no blades used in the battle that day, she was more bruised than any fighter.
Her ears were still plagued by Rhovan's seductive, poisonous voice: When silence reigns, corrup
