Vroyd sat in a curled-up ball, weeping and tearing at the grass. When the first fireball had hit, he had been outside the inn with his friends, ditching work and trying to figure out what was going on.
Dannick lay dead, a heavy beam across his back and shoulders. It had fallen out of the inn, cracking his neck. Nuck was helping his grandmother walk. A young girl was wailing over her father who had bled to death from a neck wound.
Bern was weeping, holding Kurska’s lifeless body. She was a child. He was a child. Why did Aundair care what they did? Why did some far-away queen have to come and ruin his life, and take away the only girl he wanted to kiss?
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