Lyra's POV
The night had broken, but dawn came dull and gray its light strangled by the clouds that still hung heavy over Riverbend's borders. The world smelled of blood, smoke, and wet earth. I stood near the edge of the courtyard, staring at the line of bodies laid out beneath rough linen sheets.
The war was over for now, but the silence that followed felt worse than the clash of blades.
Kaelan stood a few feet away, his shoulders rigid, his cloak stained dark along one sleeve where his blood had dried. He hadn't said much since they dragged the last body in. He didn't need to. The air between us pulsed with everything we couldn't put into words.
I forced my gaze to the corpse at my feet the one the scouts said had led the attack. His armor bore the mark of Ironclaw, but the scent was wrong. Beneath the metal tang of blood lingered something older, fouler warlock magic.
