The library was far busier than when we left. Fatesworn hurried between the shelves, carrying messages and bundles of supplies, while a dozen soldiers gathered around a large table covered in maps. Several reading alcoves had been converted into makeshift infirmaries, and the smell of blood and healing magic mingled with the familiar scent of parchment.
"Lady Xiviyah!"
Thron emerged from behind a stack of books, his robes slightly disheveled. His eyes widened as he spotted the others, lingering on Luke.
"It's done?" he asked, sounding smaller than I'd ever heard him sound before.
I nodded somberly, and he let out a breath.
"I see. Then the Divine Throne has fallen. Congratulations on your victory, apostle."
Luke glanced at him, his lips twitching. "I did what needed to be done."
