The heavy, salt-stained air of the cliffside was replaced by the flickering warmth of the Great Dining Hall. Despite the spread of food before them—rich meats, mountain fruits, and Northern wines—hardly anyone touched their plate. The only sound was the occasional clink of silverware and the crackle of the hearth, a hollow substitute for the roaring fire of the brother they had lost.
Luviyah sat at the head of the table, her face pale but her gaze sharp. Beside her, an empty chair was draped in Craig's cloak. Across from her, the dragons sat in their human forms, their skin scarred and their eyes reflecting a weariness that went deeper than bone.
She looked at Ingi, then at Fafnir and the others, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sheer extent of their lingering injuries. Even with Craig's healing, the phantom pains of the Void seemed to make them flinch.
