The doors opened onto the whole of House Morgain, and every head in the hall turned toward him.
The room had been dressed for a formal gathering, the long table laid, every place marked, the family banners hanging heavy down the walls. It was a large hall, and large halls held the cold well, but the chill in this one owed less to the stone than to the people filling it. Two years had passed since he last stood among most of them. He took the measure of the room in a single pass, and the room took the measure of him right back.
A handful of chairs stood empty.
The most obvious was Valttair's, the high seat at the head of the table, waiting on a patriarch who had not yet come down from two years of seclusion.
Rivena's place was empty as well.
Trafalgar had known it would be, though knowing did nothing to answer whether she would appear before the day was out. If she failed to, Valttair's temper would be a thing worth stepping back from.
