The cold wasn't what hurt.
It was the weight.
The crystal wall lay across her chest, heavy as stone, shimmering with warped reflections of her own battered body. Her right arm twisted and pinned between two slabs of jagged ice. Her shield lay inches from her fingers, but she couldn't reach it. Her fingers were too numb to close.
Above her, the light refracted in perfect geometry. Arcs of silver and blue danced along the mirrored domes that enclosed her—Scael's waltz, still spinning, still flawless.
"How long will you lie there?" came the voice.
Silk-smooth. Arrogant. Too close.
"Is that your oath?" Scael asked. "To die as a mute monument?"
She didn't answer.
"You really are the most loyal, aren't you?" he sighed.
"That's what they always say about the silent ones. Loyal. Steady. Useful."
A shape moved across the crystal ceiling above her—his tail, his claws, his silhouette.
"But loyalty without recognition?" he chuckled.
