The silence that followed Ellyn's question was not a void; it was a physical weight, thick with the dust of centuries and the sudden, sharp scent of an unraveling lie. Ice mages in Solmire. Working in tandem with the fire-blessed ancestors to cage a fire god.
It was utterly absurd.
Eris sat perfectly still, her hands resting on the cool mahogany of the library table. She watched the way the weak northern sun caught the floating dust motes, turning them into a slow-motion blizzard.
Another inconsistency, she thought, the gears of her mind turning with a cold, relentless friction. Another piece of the puzzle that refuses to fit the standard story.
Or maybe, she realized with a jolt of visceral clarity, it fits perfectly into a different story. One that was never meant to be read. One that was scrubbed from the ledgers of history to make room for a cleaner, more heroic narrative.
