The light in the Seneschal’s Court was thin and gray, filtering down through the high glass windows like morning mist over the Honeywine. The great hall was abuzz with the quiet industry of novices and stewards, their sandals whispering over old stone. Sarella stood just inside the doorway, arms folded in her green brigandine, eyes scanning the chamber with practiced ease. She had fooled everyone here, to them she was Alleras 'the sphinx'. She had to be to study here, so she would be him as long as she needed to.

She saw him almost at once.

The black cloak set him apart—thick wool, travel-stained, heavy with the salt of a long road. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, but his eyes moved with purpose. The look of a man who had been sent, and had come, though he did not yet know why.

She stepped forward, weaving through a line of scribes.

“You’re far from the Wall, black brother,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come with me unless you wish to wait 3 days. You won't get far here. Archmaester Marwyn expects you.”