She turned then, dress whispering across blood-stained ice, already dismissing the corpses, the spell, the horror of what they'd just done.
"Clean this up," she instructed Isolde with the same tone she might use to order tea. "Dispose of the bodies. Burn the blood away. Tomorrow night, we'll use the eastern vents. And Aira…"
"Yes." The witch assured her. "I'll prepare everything. All we need is the right moment."
Vetra paused at the doorway, looking back over her shoulder, backlit by the purple-white flames that refused to die. "Tomorrow, during the ritual, when all eyes are watching them hunt for shards and prove their love…" Her smile widened. "We'll remind this empire what happens when you let monsters wear crowns."
Then she was gone, gliding through shadows like she belonged to them.
Aira followed, the black book clutched to her chest, already muttering ingredients lists under her breath.
