Zaeryn watched Ravena's retreating back, his offer of a truce hanging in the air like a poorly cast spell. She didn't even glance back.
"Okay. Well, let me know when Ingrid arrives?" he called out.
The only response was the rhythmic, indignant click of her heels against the stone path. Apparently, ruining a future Judge's meditation was a crime that didn't come with a quick pardon.
He turned back to the garden, the silence of the estate settling over him. It was a beautiful day, too beautiful for the kind of work he needed to do. There was no Viora today. No princess to dismantle his form with surgical precision or kick him into the dirt until his Vitae finally learned how to scream.
Yesterday she'd dismantled him with surgical precision, and somehow that had been exactly what he needed. The pain, the pressure, the constant threat of getting teleported behind and kicked in the spine, it had forced him to adapt. Three abilities had jumped ranks in a single session.
