My queen, what are you doing?”
Sylvanas heard the shock in her normally calm champion’s voice. She chose to overlook it. On the surface, what was unfolding below— the firing of arrows, the screams and pleas of the Desolate Council as they tasted their Last Deaths could seem perplexing and disturbing.
“The only thing I can do and still hang on to my kingdom as it is,” she said. “They were defecting.”
“Some were running back here, to safety,” he replied.
“They were,” she agreed. “But how much of that was fear? How tempted were they until that point?” She shook her head. “No, Nathanos. I cannot take the risk. The only Desolate Council members I trust are the ones who returned to me early on, broken and bitter. Truly Desolate. All the others...I cannot allow that sentiment, that hope, to grow. It is an infection ready to spread. I have to cut it out.”
Slowly, accepting her words, he nodded.