Happily, she was not long tormented. The clock chimed once; twice; three times! And then fell silent.
She was reminded of the way a clock’s chime sounded across Argantel, when the Gloaming came in. But there were four chimes then, so it could not be the same.
Could it? For the quality of the light was changing in the room, growing — almost imperceptibly — lighter and brighter, but with a brittle quality to it that she recognised. Was the Brightening come in? She could feel no doubt that it was, and tried to persuade herself that there had been four chimes, not three, and she had somehow miscounted.
A glance at her own pocket-watch dispelled any such comforting ideas: it was but three o’clock. Nynevarre had said four, hadn’t she? The light was an hour early.
Oriane began to tremble, her
