The words did not merely land; they detonated.
Helena's face went white. The transformation was instantaneous and horrifying, as if the very blood in her veins had turned to ice.
One moment she was standing with her chin raised, a soldier braced for impact; the next, every ounce of color drained from her skin as if an invisible plug had been pulled from her soul.
Her lips parted, her mouth opening to scream or to retch, but her lungs refused to work. No sound came out, only a wet, ragged gasp that died in her throat.
'Apollo is dead.' The thought circled her mind like a vulture, relentless and mocking. 'How? How could anything kill him?'
"Elliot fell trying to avenge him," Morwenna continued.
Her voice remained maddeningly steady, flat as a funeral dirge, as though she were reciting a grocery list rather than the slaughter of their kin. "He fought like a demon possessed, but he was outmatched."
"He was broken on the stones before he could land a single meaningful blow."
