"What happened to the last forty-seven allies who joined your war against the humans?"
Paulus' question hung in the air, heavy like the snow after a blizzard. Throughout the hall, forks and knives froze, suspended over dishes as the Frost Walkers attending the feast dared not make a sound. The air itself seemed to crystalize, as though the already cold room had entered the depths of winter.
Moments ago they had been exhilarated by Old Fabiene's tale of Nyrielle's heroic stand on the arena sands. Now, one of their elders had stood to speak out against her, dumping a bucket of ice water over the warm fires the stirring tale had built in their hearts.
"Old Fabiene, thank you for sharing your tale. You are a treasure and I am honored to hear that it helped you face your own struggles," Nyrielle said, gently removing Ashlynn's hands from where her Seneschal had offered a comforting touch and turning her attention to the belligerent elder.
