The snow fell past Vetra's window in fat, lazy flakes that seemed to mock the smoke still rising from the eastern districts. She stood with one hand pressed against the cold glass, watching the gray column stain the twilight sky, and waited.
The knock came exactly when she expected it.
"Enter."
The door opened. Isolde stumbled in, bowing so hastily she nearly tripped over her own skirts. "Your Imperial Majesty."
Vetra didn't turn from the window. The smoke was thinning now, dispersing into the gathering dark. From here, the destruction looked almost beautiful, abstract, distant, someone else's problem. "Well?"
Isolde's breathing was labored, like she'd run the entire way from the eastern districts. Probably had. Good. Let her be rattled. Fear kept servants loyal.
"The demons are gone."
"Gone." Vetra let the word hang in the air for a moment before turning slowly. "Gone how, exactly?"
