Night had fallen by the time they came for him.
Soren stood at the window of his small chamber, watching torches burn in the courtyard below. The air tasted of smoke and tension. After the disaster of the hunt, House Velrane had drawn in upon itself like a wounded beast retreating to its den. Guards patrolled in doubled numbers. Servants moved with the careful efficiency of those who knew their masters were in dangerous moods.
The knock at his door was sharp, authoritative. A single rap that expected immediate response.
"Enter," he said, not turning from the window.
The door opened to reveal one of Callen's personal guards, a tall woman with a face like carved granite and eyes that gave away nothing.
"Lord Velrane requires your presence," she said. "Now."
