He looked at Branimir. Held the look.
"Your thrall-masters, Branimir. Your compulsion magic. Your men in my forest, using a mortal civilian as bait to draw out a prisoner that you and my sister have been hunting for weeks. A prisoner whose blood you need to keep Viregate alive, because the Sentience is dying and you are too proud and too stupid to admit that the system you built is collapsing, so instead you sent hired killers into my territory to retrieve your battery before anyone noticed the lights were going out."
"That is a lie," Branimir said, but his voice had lost its edge. It was the voice of a man watching his carefully constructed narrative unravel in real time.
