Meanwhile, something was happening outside the province of Southmarch.
Back in the Sovereign Bastion where the three kings gathered for meetings, the midday sun filtered through the rare, translucent white stone of the cathedral mountain.
A pale, shadowless glow was cast over the massive circular table at its center, like it was a fellow guest in the grave meeting that had all kings gathered.
Standing in silent observation along the periphery of the grand chamber were the Heroes.
Aethelstan rested his hand heavily on his sword hilt, his jaw clenched tight. Nessa stood perfectly still, her eyes scanning the room, while Corisande watched the gathered monarchs with a quiet, gnawing anxiety in her chest.
At the center of the room sat the three rulers of the realm, separated by equal distances of polished marble.
