Kael’s POV
The hall smelled of smoke and iron.
It was the same room I had stood in as a child—smaller then, or maybe I had just been shorter. The banners hanging from the rafters were darker now, their edges singed from too many winters and not enough victories.
Malrik sat on the throne-like chair at the head of the long table, wrapped in fur and arrogance. The torches painted the hollows of his face in gold and shadow, and when his gaze met mine, it was like staring into a mirror that showed everything I’d refused to become.
“You should have stayed buried in the snow,” he said, voice calm but heavy with satisfaction.
“Buried men don’t walk into your hall,” I said.
A murmur rippled through the gathered captains and elders. Some avoided my eyes; others stared, unsure whether to bow or
