67
Myla
There’s an old dead thrax and the ground and the heavy scent of alcohol in the air. Unbelievable. Who kills a medieval dude who’s whatever-hundreds of years old?
Aldred does, that’s who.
Even worse, the old thrax guy has a very clear dagger in his back. Blood pools around the wound. That’s not an honest death, thrax wise. There’s a reason it’s an insult to call someone a back stabber. It’s just a shitty kill.
Fury tightens my limbs. I point at the dead thrax. “You murdered one of your own people, Aldred. We need to talk about this.”
Aldred rolls his eyes. My rage demon roars inside me. Electric jolts of anger charge through my nervous system.
Aldred using an eye roll to me as an actual response to getting hassled about stabbing an old dude in the back? I may have wanted to k
