"I don't care what lies you've told the others," Lanther snarled, his grief-ravaged face inches from Soren's. "My son is dead while you live. Explain that, street rat."
The great hall had descended into chaos. Lords who had ridden together now turned on each other like starving dogs fighting over the last scrap of meat. Trescan pointed accusingly at Dravien, whose knights had supposedly abandoned their position.
Karvath bellowed about Lanther's cowardice. Each noble twisted the messenger's warning about Sylas's continued movements into leverage against their rivals.
Soren stood in the center of it all, a convenient target for their collective rage. The shard against his chest remained cold and silent, offering no guidance as accusations flew around him like arrows.
"Perhaps the boy made some arrangement," suggested a Karvath captain, voice dripping with insinuation. "Some... understanding with the killer."
