No one went back to bed.
That became clear within the first half hour after Rowan was taken below, not through any formal order, but through the way Grimridge kept moving under strain without giving itself the mercy of pretending the night had settled. Lamps were brought in from the side rooms and set around the north wall map until the old inked lines showed clearly. Fresh wood was fed into the hearths. Wet boots were exchanged for dry ones in corners that never stopped being watched. The women from the kitchens moved between tables with cloths, tea, bread, salt, and hot water, though now every pass of a tray seemed to carry more than comfort. It carried witness. Rowan had tried to cut the house around Sable in pieces small enough to seem survivable until there was nothing left holding shape. No one in the hall was willing to let that pass unmarked.
Oda sat under three blankets near the inner hearth and looked furious at all of them for treating her as though she might tip over.
