Lara's thoughts strayed as the fire flickered before her, its warmth doing little to soften the chill that coiled in her chest. She thought of her family—of her father preparing for war, of her mother's gentleness hidden behind a mask of sternness and indifference. What would they say if they knew she would stand not as a warrior or healer in the war but as a contender in the Queen's tournament?
They should not be surprised, right? They had already seen how she fought and knew what she was capable of.
Across the flames, Logan sat quietly, the firelight carving harsh planes into his face. The distant thunder of waterfalls echoed from the cliffs, a reminder that here, in the mountains, they were far from the courts and crowns where names were measured in power.
"You should feel lucky," Lara said at last, her voice steady, carrying none of the storm in her eyes. "It means Master believes you're ready to make a name for yourself."
