"You grew up in a palace," Laira whispered. "You grew up in wealth, a roof always over your head, food always on your plate. And you are beautiful. And I love you."

Having fled Eteer as a toddler, Laira had grown up cold, hungry, neglected, and now—in adulthood—her body still bore testament to those hardships. She stood shy of five feet, her body frail and weak, her limbs stick thin. Her hair, which her chieftain would crop short, was only now growing out, falling across her brow and ears. Her jaw was still crooked, broken years ago, leaving her mouth slanted and her chin thrust to the side—an injury that would never heal. Yet Issari was still pure. Issari was the only pure thing Laira still had from her old home across the sea.

"I lost a brother today," she whispered. "But I found a sister."

Issari mumbled, lying upon a fur rug beneath King's Column. The others stood all around—Jeid, his children, and the newcomers. Some stared at Issari, and others whispered amongst themselves of the demon threat crawling across the land. Grief at Sena's death and joy at finding Issari filled Laira, but fear coiled within her too. War was coming; she smelled it on the wind, a faint stench.

"Wake, Issari." Laira kissed the girl's cheek. "Wake and tell us what you know."

Dorvin paced restlessly beside them, his boots thumping upon the marble tiles. A young man, his black hair falling across his brow, he scowled and clenched his fists. His eyes burned. "She already told us enough." Dorvin hawked and spat. "An army of demons. Flying here. Very well then! We fight. We take flight now. We meet them in battle." He raised his fist. "We blow fire and we—"

Jeid slapped the young man's nape. "Silence, boy. We don't fly to war before hearing more." The king turned toward Alina, the young druid. "Is the drink ready? Issari needs healing. Now."

The druid nodded. She stared up from the shadows of her hood, her lavender eyes glowing in the sunlight. She stepped forth, robes swaying, holding a clay bowl. Within was steaming water thick with healing herbs.

"Help your sister drink," Alina said, offering the mug to Laira. "This will give her strength."

Laira accepted the medicine and tilted the bowl over Issari's lips.

"Drink, sister." Gently, she poured the liquid into Issari's mouth. "Drink a little."

Issari twitched in her sleep, mumbled something unintelligible, and sputtered. With Laira's guidance, the young woman drank a few sips, coughed, and opened her eyes.

At once Issari sprang up to a sitting position, her eyes widening. "Demons!" she cried out. Her voice rang across the camp. "An army of demons. We must flee. Dragons of Requiem! We—"