A hand wrapped around her mouth. She struggled until Tallis’s words found their way into her short- circuiting brain.
“Quiet,” he hissed softly. His arms were strong around her, which was welcome rather than abhorrent. She was ready to shudder apart, disintegrated by fear and outrage. “Who are those men?”
“Indranan representatives. My allies from the Northern and Southern factions. Oh, Dragon save them.”
Pashkah was a man of his sick, malevolent word. He stood over the representatives and spread his hands with a flourish. “These are the presents the Sun was going to offer at dusk. Omanand of the North. Raghupati of the South. She would’ve stood behind them and smiled that calm, happy smile as they shook hands. Ended the civil war. Healed the breach. Wouldn’t that have been lovely?”
“Is that true?” Tallis asked against Kavya’s cheek.
“Yes,” she whispered. “A foundation for lasting peace. But it doesn’t matter now. Nothing will matter now.”
One of the Guardsmen handed Pashkah a sword.
Tallis drew in a sharp breath. “That’s Dragon-forged.”
Her lucidity was slipping away along with her hopes. She was physically ill, so painfully, violently ill. “Yes. The only weapon that can kill a Dragon King.”
Pashkah lifted the blade. With one blow, he beheaded Omanand. With another, he separated Raghupati’s head from a body that flopped onto the altar. Terror echoed through the valley like the shrieks of demons.
Kavya saw only blood.
