Duskfire Glacier a matter of honor

the dark crown instinctually dips when faust nears. foreheads touching, the great collision of two stone mountains. a touch of strength, binding, bonding; the depth of a brotherhood blackfell has not forgotten, and never could.
his name is sun eater. and when he speaks, it is with malice. venom dripping from words, damned as the depths of his soul. from there, the story unfolds. every gorey detail, none left unbarred, none spared from the ear of his cousin; of his brother. it is not a long one, a quick one, but highlights the most pivotal of moments:
the queen. their love. the tyrant. the crown. the sword.
he clears his throat and draws deep breath, turning attention to the woman he had not noticed. something faint, something gut-wrenching. she is familiar—and yet a mind fogged by chaos of the day cannot place her. a huntress, that is what she was. an order for something warm, and blackfell feels his eyes crinkle with amusement at faust's biting words. she knows not what we speak of. drawing himself to his height, shoulders rolling, attempts at expelling the tension which still rode upon his dark pelt.
thank you, cousin. he says. though his ears twist, falling briefly flat upon his head as svalla's name is spawned between them. blackfell scoffs, head turning, as if she might appear from the darkness of the glacier yet. but he says nothing, only waiting for this sulukinak woman to lead him away.