Priscilla turned her head toward the tall, arched window, watching the grey clouds roll over the distant peaks. "The very woman they used to fear as a curse may become the spiritual center of Virelia."
"Will," Sylas refined sharply. "Not may."
She turned back to look at him, her dark eyes measuring his calm stance. "It is an elegant play. I will give him that."
Sylas let out a theatrical, exaggerated sigh, slumping back slightly. "Finally. I was beginning to think I'd have to break down basic courtcraft for you line by line."
Priscilla rolled her eyes, throwing the rolled-up letter back toward his lap. "Save the theatrics. I understood the political maneuver. I was simply sifting through the blood beneath it."
A quiet, low laugh slipped from his chest.
Priscilla focused on the parchment once more, her brow furrowing slightly. "The strategy is sound. The lie is clean. But one fundamental piece still doesn't fit."
"The affliction itself," Sylas noted flatly.
