He knew he should be happy by what he saw—after all, there, before him, was what he had craved to see: all his warriors here in Andros, feasting, reveling in their victory. There were Kavos’s men and Seavig’s men, all of them together, taking the very seats the Pandesians had had, feasting on the finest delicacies, drinking the best wine, and celebrating, as they deserved to, for taking the capital against all odds. Duncan reflected on how they had managed to take their victory from Volis to Esephus, to the Lake of Ire and on to the peaks of Kavos—and now, finally, to the capital itself. It was surreal. They had sparked a movement in Escalon, and had spread freedom throughout half the land. It had been a spontaneous uprising, sparked by Kyra, something none of them could have ever planned. Seeing the statues toppled, as he had today, capped the victory of a lifetime. Duncan knew he should feel victorious, relaxed. And yet he did not. For before him sat, amidst his men, an uneasy alliance of others, Bant’s men on the other side of the table, joined by the nobles and King’s Guard, men who were, he suspected, still loyal to Tarnis.
