Bram drones on about imported centerpieces while I smile mechanically, watching Vaelra work the crowd several paces away.
She gestures elegantly, describing silk banners and flower arrangements with practiced modesty. The small cluster of settlers leans in, enthralled by her generosity.
"The musicians alone cost a fortune," Vaelra sighs, hand pressed to her chest. "But nothing is too much for dear Ilyra. After all she's endured, losing her father so suddenly... I simply couldn't bear to see her suffer further."
Mrs. Kaelen clutches Vaelra's arm sympathetically. "Such kindness. Taking her in, caring for her, securing such a prominent match?—"
"I only do what any mother would."
My jaw tightens.
Mother.
The word tastes like poison.
She never cared. Never protected. She orchestrated this entire nightmare to elevate herself, using my father's death as leverage and my body as currency.
And now she parades around like some benevolent savior while settlers praise her virtue.
The bug needs squashing before it grows too comfortable.
Azrathiel.
The air shifts immediately—subtle pressure change only I notice. Warmth bleeds through my awareness, familiar and possessive.
Are you there?
"I'm here, flower."
His voice curls against my ear, invisible but unmistakable. The sound sends shivers down my spine despite the midday heat. I feel his satisfaction radiating through our connection, sharp anticipation thrumming beneath it. Bloodlust simmers just below the surface, eager and waiting.
He wants permission to destroy.
But I don't want corpses. Not yet. Just humiliation. Just truth.
Stop them from believing her lies.
Something cold traces my collarbone—phantom touch that raises goosebumps across my skin. I swear I hear him chuckle, dark and pleased, the sound vibrating through my bones.
"As you wish."
The sensation lingers even after his presence recedes slightly, spreading outward toward Vaelra's audience like smoke through cracks.
I turn back to Bram, nodding at whatever he's saying about wine vintages, and wait.
Patience.
Let him work.
Mrs. Kaelen's expression shifts first—smile faltering, brow pinching in confusion.
"Although..." she trails off mid-agreement, head tilting slightly. "I suppose the wedding is rather extravagant considering the household's recent loss."
Mr. Doren nods slowly, stroking his beard. "True. Most families observe mourning periods before celebrations."
Vaelra's hand flutters dismissively. "Grief doesn't pay debts?—"
"Speaking of debts," Mrs. Kaelen interrupts gently, "weren't there concerns about the house finances before Edric passed? I remember hearing something about unpaid mining shares."