One look at the wreckage strewn across the Dawnveil Sect told the whole story. The moment Aldric killed him, every last disciple had followed the god away without hesitation.
Not a single one stayed behind to bury him.
For a pack of disciples that heartless, did Master truly believe it was worth it?
Faced with my silence, the Matron's eyes grew redder still.
But she was terrified I would do something reckless, so she swallowed her own tears and forced a smile.
"Lynara, you came back, didn't you? As long as you remember your master, that's enough."
Desperate to smother the hatred in my heart, she hurried into the kitchen and brought out a pot still faintly warm with steam.
"Lynara, our Dawnveil Sect is small. We don't have the power. Let's not talk about revenge."
"Look. Your master stewed this pigeon soup for you right before he died."
"He said you must have suffered on the road. You were already too thin, he said. You needed to eat properly."
I reached out and touched the dried blood crusted on the side of the pot. My face showed nothing. "Was Master making me soup when he died?"
The Matron's hands trembled. Her voice cracked further.
"Yes. He was watching the pot. He was afraid it would turn bitter if it stewed too long."
"He said you hate anything sour or bitter."
I thought to myself, that foolish old man. He died without ever realizing I'd been lying to him.
I never actually minded sour or bitter things.
I just hated taking medicine.
When Master first found me, I was badly wounded. My health never fully recovered after that, and I needed medicine constantly just to stay alive.
It drove me mad. Every now and then I'd dump the doses in secret.
When Master caught on, he bought sour jujubes to coax me, saying that if I ate one first, the medicine wouldn't taste so bitter.
I didn't want to cooperate, so I told him offhandedly that I didn't like anything sour or bitter.
Even though I could never win against Master's relentless coaxing, I still obediently took my medicine for six years. But he kept those words of mine close to his heart.
After I recovered, nothing sour or bitter ever appeared on my dinner table again.
I took the pot from Matron Thornwell's hands and, as if I couldn't feel the scalding heat, drank half the soup in one long gulp.
The remaining half I poured out beside Master's body.
I wiped my mouth. "Not bad, old man. But the blood mixed in makes it a little fishy."