Chapter Text
“I suppose it’s too much to hope for a change in your hospitality?”
Highwind’s lips curl up into a smirk. “I’m afraid that now you’re not about to drop dead, it’s back to business as usual.”
Cor nods with a sigh. It’s no more than he’d been expecting, really.
“You should have mentioned the sepsis, Marshal.” It’s an admonishment, and one that takes Cor by surprise. He’s careful not to let it show, but he thinks it’s odd that they had expected him to point it out to them. It’s a little naïve of them, but then, he’d thought the man in front of him was young for a general when he first saw him. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.
“Could’ve, should’ve.” Cor mutters, letting his eyes slip closed. “Someone cleaned that wound before I woke up in this hellhole. I figured you knew about it.”
“Evidently, someone did not clean it well enough.” Highwind replies under his breath. “No matter, you’ve responded well to treatment. You are in no danger of dying now.”
Cor can’t help it, he snorts. “If only that were true.”
The thought is sobering, and for a long moment the only sounds in the cold, grey cell are their quiet breaths. But there’s no sense in putting off the inevitable. With another heavy sigh, Cor looks back to the general.
“Bring it on, then."
* * *
“Your Majesty, my lords,” The envoy says again, giving a small bow. “The empire claims to have captured and executed Marshal Leonis.”
Regis finds the phrase in writing at the same time the words sink in.
He can’t honestly remember exactly what happened in the council room after the envoy passed on the news.
The next thing he knows is that he’s kneeling next to his chair, arms wrapped around Clarus, who’s sobbing, and screaming into his shoulder, so overwrought with pure, agonising loss that he sounds almost like a wounded animal.