Nightspire looked at Serena the way people look at ghosts.
His grief was not a wound. Wounds close. His grief was architecture. It was built into his posture, his jawline, the way his face softened against his will every time Serena's face caught the light at a certain angle.
And now the room understood.
"Maelor Vantheos. Born in the Isle of Eldoria. The Fae call him Mage. The Mages call him Fae. He has used this to claim the best and reject the inconveniences of both bloodlines."
"He considers himself the most talented mage in any room he enters. The ancestors would like him to know that Hyran Thornfell is in this room."
Maelor's nostrils flared once and he lifted his chin, as if the comparison itself was an insult.
"Blood mix of old and new. The most connected Eldorian in the new world. He has served Riven Nightspire faithfully for years. He has also redecorated his throne room without permission. Twice."
