I woke with the frigid point of worry stabbing at my brain—chill not of dawn's frost at all. The morning bells in Fangreach sounded a warning: an emergency council at first light, called with sharpness that reverberated into all the halls.
Kael appeared in the courtyard a few minutes later, water mist curling around our boots. His duster was pulled taught in a wind more full of tension than any I'd ever felt before. "They are already coming, you know," he said, speaking in a quiet and urgent voice.
I nodded, steadying my breath. "Then let's go." We sprinted up the ramparts two at a time, the sound of our boots against the ancient stone still bouncing off the length of the Great Hall until we were standing outside of the doors. Torin was watching over it, visor up, war‑axe at the ready. Behind him, a row of Silverclaw warriors created a silent honour guard; beyond them, the banners of Blackfang, Freeborn, and Ironclaw were arranged in orderly rows of mutual respect.
