The King and Queen of Corvalith, Lorraine's dreamland of escape stepped forward. Their dancers swept across the arena in jewel-toned silks, moving with easy grace as baskets of spices and gleaming elephant tusks were laid before the Emperor.
Lorraine's chest tightened. Corvalith. Soon, she told herself, she would belong among them, not here choking on Vaeloria's tyranny.
They bowed low, and their tributes were lifted onto the gilded platform. The Emperor, smug as ever, touched them with the flat of his sword—a performance of grace, as if he were a god bestowing favor.
Then came Kaltharion.
Corvalith and Kaltharion had always been like cousins, neighbors in land and blood, their mountains and rivers spilling into one another. When Kaltharion fell, Corvalith could not hold on for long; they too surrendered, crushed beneath Vaeloria's heel. Corvalith remained the more hospitable, the more educated, yet the kinship between the two ran deep, and Lorraine felt it stir inside her now.
