The first grey light of dawn was seeping through the high windows of the great hall when I arrived. The fires had been lit, their flames crackling in the massive hearths, pushing back the chill that seeped through the ancient stones. Servants moved quietly between the tables, setting out bread and cheese and steaming cups of tea, their voices hushed in the early morning stillness.
I had not expected to find Kaelen there.
He sat at the head of the high table, his usual place, a cup of tea cradled in his hands, his winter-grey eyes fixed on the fire. He looked tired—the shadows under his eyes were deeper than they had been before the battle, and there was a tension in his shoulders that had not been there before. But when he heard my footsteps, he turned, and something in his face softened.
"You're up early," he said.
