I wish I could wrap my boy in my arms and hold him until he became part of me again. I would garland him with kisses and apologies and promises. But we are at war, and I am the Sovereign, and so the mother must wait her turn. Kavax sees my distress, and breaks from the procession to scoop my son up into his arms with a madman’s laugh. He perches him on his shoulder and crows about the Boy Who Killed a TorchShip.
