One look at the wreckage strewn across the Dawnveil Sect told the whole story. The moment Aldric killed him, every last disciple had followed the god away without hesitation.
Not a single one stayed behind to bury him.
For a pack of disciples that heartless, did Master truly believe it was worth it?
Faced with my silence, the Matron's eyes grew redder still.
But she was terrified I would do something reckless, so she swallowed her own tears and forced a smile.
"Lynara, you came back, didn't you? As long as you remember your master, that's enough."
Desperate to smother the hatred in my heart, she hurried into the kitchen and brought out a pot still faintly warm with steam.
"Lynara, our Dawnveil Sect is small. We don't have the power. Let's not talk about revenge."
"Look. Your master stewed this pigeon soup for you right before he died."
"He said you must have suffered on the road. You were already too thin, he said. You needed to eat properly."
I reached out and touched the dried blood crusted on the side of the pot. My face showed nothing. "Was Master making me soup when he died?"
The Matron's hands trembled. Her voice cracked further.