The entire garden fell deathly silent, the sort of silence that settled over marble and leaves alike when a foolish remark had gone too far, and everyone present knew it.
Shaelvyn's words lingered beneath the green canopy of vines, heavy enough that even the fountain seemed too loud in the hush that followed, each spill of water into the basin sounding strangely clear while the seven women stared at the widow as though she had finally said something so reckless that even grief could not excuse it.
Myrathien was the first to break, and she did so with a laugh that began softly enough to sound like disbelief before it sharpened into open amusement. She covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders trembling as smug delight spilled from her in quiet, cutting waves, and her pink eyes stayed fixed on Shaelvyn with the bright, cruel satisfaction of someone watching another person step too close to a cliff.
