Passed?
No, wait.
A dissonant thought buzzed in Hettor's skull. Hadn't she just been in his treetop city? A breathtaking, warm-smiling woman with a dragon-shadow at her shoulder, promising a different kind of god?
That was mere days ago. He looked around, his own confusion mirrored on the faces of other lords and chieftains. There was a ripple of stunned, uncomprehending silence, then the frantic, silent math behind their eyes.
Of course, yes, the Saintess had been dethroned. Publicly disgraced. But killed? There had been no announcement, no state funeral, not even a whisper of tragedy. She'd simply… vanished before the coronation.
Everyone had assumed she'd been quietly exiled, sent to a remote temple, perhaps. A political disappearance, not a mortal one.
No.
Wait. Wait a fucking minute.
