(Daciana POV)
Bardolph looked at me like a man seeing his own hands covered in blood for the first time.
Part of me wanted to feel victory, but victory was bitter when the truth came wrapped in dead servants and burning towers.
Lyall coughed behind me, and I turned away from Bardolph because my mother’s truth mattered more than his regret.
The healers had pulled him from the bed, but his face was pale, and his breathing sounded like broken leaves under winter boots.
I knelt beside him again, and Tala pressed a damp cloth to his forehead with hands that trembled through every practiced movement.
“Stay with me,” I whispered, because I had too few people left who could speak of my mother without using lies.
Lyall opened his eyes slowly, and a sad smile touched his cracked lips when he
