The doors slam shut behind Killian, and the iron echo reverberates through the chamber, ringing inside me like thunder that refuses to fade. I drew a breath, but the entire hall seemed to hold it with me. Twelve pairs of eyes fix on me, sharp and unyielding, as though I am a riddle they intend to solve, or shatter.
“Come, Juniper Ashe,” says a very large man sitting in one of the council chairs to my left, raising a thick hand. His hair falls in white waves over his shoulders, and his long robe glitters with silver threads that catch the torchlight like captured stars. “Come closer. It is customary to offer a welcome before the trials.”
I obey, stepping toward the crescent-shaped table that dominates the hall. A servant slips from the shadows, silent as smoke, and pulls out a large ornat
