Syrlya's shout echoes and carries, filling up the Coliseum. Dead. Even knowing it was a possibility, even knowing they had a plan for that, Lambert feels a heavy weight settle in his stomach.

Much like Ignatius, though, it's easy for him to immediately convert sadness into anger.

"Are you happy?" Lambert snarls, rounding on the bound fae and pushing himself off the stone floor with a distinct wobble. He's in unpleasant shape and no doubt bound for the med tent after this. "Is this what you wanted?"