Elara's POV
He did it slowly.
Not with the dramatic slowness of performance, not with any quality of theatre. Simply with the unhurried certainty of a man who moved at his own pace because he had never been required to move at anyone else's. He turned from the window and he was the room's full length away from me and the morning light was behind him and it fell across him the way light falls across things that are solid and old and do not move for it.
He looked at me.
The gold eyes.
I had remembered them correctly and I had not remembered them correctly, both at once, the way you remember a piece of music correctly and still find the live version doing something the memory hadn't accounted for. They were the colour of something old and certain and not quite natural, and they were on m
