Chapter 82
Days after new year celebrations Anastas sat in a rattling carriage that traveled along a lonely forest road, the carriage wheels cut grooves into earth, still damp from the morning dew.
In his left hand, a cloak of black leather—dark as a starless sky, its fabric seeming to drink the light that touched it. Death energy rolled off its surface in waves, thick and cloying, the kind of cold that settled into bones and stayed there.
In his right hand, a white bone crown.
He sighed.
"Captain is just to much."
The words hung in the dim air of the carriage, unanswered. Outside, the hooves of the rank four scaly horse clattered against stone, its flame affinity leaving faint scorch marks on the path behind them.
Anastas turned the crown over in his fingers. Bone. The craftsmanship was exquisite—each ridge, each curve, each interlocking segment fitted with a precision that spoke of hands that had done this before. Many times.
