For the briefest of moments, Valerian simply stared at Vera. The revelation that the same disguised witch was none other than the priestess of the Vale herself settled over the chamber like a winter frost.
Seraphielle.....
The name had not been spoken within the walls of Valkoron in years. It belonged to nightmares whispered by old soldiers over cups of bitter ale.
Mothers used it to frighten unruly children into obedience. Veterans who had survived the Sundering Cataclysm rarely uttered it aloud, as though speaking her name invited misfortune.
Yet now Vera had spoken it before the entire court. Valerian's expression shifted. The shock vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, consumed by something colder.
His expression, which had already been grim, betrayed the briefest flicker of disbelief before every trace of emotion disappeared behind the cold mask he wore so effortlessly. When he looked up again, there was no hesitation left in his eyes.
