The hooded man did not step back from the doorway, the rain falling from his cloak hem in slow, measured taps on the stone. Just his presence made the room feel heavier. It was as if the air, which had been so thick with argument, was holding its breath.
Arabella stood up with grace, her smile thin and menacing. “You arrogate too much, intruding upon the High Council without warning. Who are you to talk of flames?”
The figure’s laugh was soft, nearly derisive. “Who am I? The wrong question.” He tilted his head slightly, his features shrouded in shadow. “The right question is who among you has been stoking the fire at your feet?”
Whispers swirled through the wind like dry leaves. Even the elder councilors, who were normally impassive as statues, were leaning forward with suspicion shinin
