Late afternoon painted a soft bar across the council table. The room always sounded smaller than it was. Quills scratched. Wax cooled. Maps lay open with corners held by cups of cold tea. Elowen stood, not for show, but because standing let the thoughts move faster. Aelthrin waited with his slate. Lira stood to the side like a shadow with good manners. Cerys leaned near the window, arms crossed, jaw still. Serelith had come without her usual grin, hair tied back with a bit of blue thread.
The courier from Valebrook looked like he had been riding through a river. Mud to the knee, salt along the jaw, breath steady because he had learned not to waste it. He bowed, then forced the words out in order, as if laying stones.
