Behind the cradle, the alcove held no door, only a curtain of stone that slid aside under the Watcher's palm. Cold air older than the stair rolled out of the dark beyond it.
Ilyra stepped between the Watcher and the opening, her diplomat's face rebuilt into a mask.
"This room is a council matter, and visitors do not walk into council matters."
"I carried her meals down this stair for two years," the Watcher said, "so you will move for me."
Ilyra looked at Oren, and neither of them moved fast enough. Undeterred, the old woman walked through the gap, and no warden raised a hand to stop her.
Hajin followed with Ash's fingers folded tight in his, while the keeper stayed behind on the stair with his shaking lamp.
"He cannot even look at the room," Loccy said quietly, watching the keeper's turned back. "He has kept that lamp lit for thirty years, and nobody ever told him what it was for."
