As Brigid stood under the noon sun, its sharp light pressing down on them, the only solace came from the faint cold wind drifting out of the forest. She watched as Cassian faced his first opponent of the day—hopefully his first slave, and one she could count toward her own force as well. She needed as many as she could gather. Even as the cult's royal-blooded granddaughter of the Cardinal, she had little backing here. Perhaps on the battlefield, under the command of someone tied to the artistic Butcher, her name would carry more weight—but not here.
As she was his grand disciple, sort of, but here every force present had already bent its support toward her brother. That was why she did not recruit openly on this battlefield.
That was true through Cassian—but at the moment, she didn't look the least bit grateful. In fact, she was glaring at him with barely contained anger, cursing under her breath. "Fucking bastard…"
