FAO
The council chamber was smaller than I expected.
I'd imagined something grand — a throne room, maybe, with vaulted ceilings and ancient tapestries. Instead, Corvin led me to a warmly lit study on the ground floor of the lodge, where a round table sat surrounded by chairs. No head of the table. No throne. Just equals, gathered to discuss.
"Your father hated ceremony," Sylvia said, noting my surprise as I entered. "He said decisions made in comfort were better than decisions made in posturing. He had this room designed specifically for council meetings."
I didn't know what to do with that — this small detail about a man I couldn't remember. I filed it away with all the others.
Six people sat around the table. Sylvia at the center, her sons Declan and Ronan flanking her. An older man
