---
It grew very late. The kitchen fire fell to low coals. The forge slept. The egg chamber kept its soft hum. The watch passed from one set of hands to another with no fuss and no sound except the tap of knuckles on a parapet to say your turn. The mountain did not feel empty. It felt full and at ease.
Near the private hall Azhara returned with a folded blanket and set it across the bench in case someone wanted a nap before dawn. She stopped and blinked at the light that had appeared again under a door.
"Still safe," she said to the air. "Still warm."
She started to turn away, then paused and reached for the tray she had left earlier. Both cups were still warm. She frowned at them like a teacher who has found two students who skipped their drink.
"Fine," she whispered. "I will drink one for you."
She took a sip and made a face. "Too much mint," she said, then drank again.
