Conquest was not what she imagined. Salvia faltered in her fierceness, if only momentarily, and blinked at the display before her. Who was this woman that would fall before her? It was not her mother. Her mother was dead to her now, gone with the corpse of her father. Eris was nothing now. Salvia could not—and would not—allow herself to be somehow owed to this wretched sight. The worm had not only rotted Eris’ mind, but her pride. This was cowardice. This was pathetic.
So she stood, looking down on the dark Queen, and took her crown with no blood and little effort. Auxiliary. No; that was her mother’s title, her mother’s crown. Salvia would fashion a new one of blood and bone and see her world rebuilt on the ashes of the pyre that had taken her father. She had not nearly died to watch Salsola fall to ruins.
“Go home,” she ordered flatly. “I will send a slave to attend to you. Do not behave in this manner in public again.” There was a faint warning within her voice. Above all others, Salvia knew the laws of her home. Disgrace from any member of her family, mother included, was unforgiveable.
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