(Planet Granada, Mauriss's POV)
Mauriss sat slouched, his chin resting on his palm as rivulets of rain coursed down his bare shoulders, his black hair floating upward unnaturally as he looked thoroughly bored.
His lips twitched, curling into something between a smile and a grimace, though his eyes were flat, lifeless, fixed on the far horizon where Juxta once burned.
He had made the perfect plan to draw Soron out.
He had cast the perfect bait in the form of Raymond, and yet no good had come from it, as in the end, there was no divine retribution.
"Nothing…" Mauriss whispered, his tongue rolling lazily over his teeth. "Not a flicker. Not a twitch. Not even a finger raised. Your beloved underling Charles died. His armies fell. His people screamed. And still you did not come."
His words slurred into laughter, then cracked into silence as the rain hit his tongue, his jaw snapping shut like a predator that had bitten into emptiness.
"Strange. Very strange."
