Two days passed before the Council made a decision.
Alistair spent most of that time in closed sessions, his voice raised through the walls of the briefing room, arguing with voices the team couldn't see. The witch remained in holding, silent, waiting. The beastkin prisoners had been transferred to a sanctuary north of the city, Mira waving goodbye with a small hand that made Cora look away.
Lucian trained. That was all he could do. Blades in the morning. Forms in the afternoon. Meditation at night, when the Keep grew quiet and the weight of waiting pressed against his chest.
Cora found him on the roof again.
"The Council is sending us to Aldoria."
He didn't turn. "When?"
"Tomorrow. Dawn."
He turned then. "All of us?"
"All of us. The artifact in Thornmouth is too far. The one in Kaelor is too deep. But Aldoria has a fragment—a piece of the staff, not the whole thing. Valentine doesn't know about it."
"Who told you?"
