Herbalists' Cache hold my cup

a muscle tenses in his jaw, irritation flaring in his chest, curling tight around his ribs. it is not her words that unnerve him—it is that she is right. he says nothing more on gjalla.

he will not be forgotten. his voice is clipped, dismissive, as if saying it will make it true. but the words do not settle right. because veksar is young, ambitious, reckless. he wants something to prove, and nothing to lose. a dangerous combination.

you know this, a voice murmurs in the back of his mind. you were the same once.

his lip twitches. his pacing ceases. with a huff, he turns back to her, crimson gaze sharp.

you did not call me here to lecture me on my brother.