Riven's POV
The eastern guest wing was comfortable in a way he hadn't experienced in longer than he could properly measure — a real bed, a fire that didn't need tending by his own hand, windows that looked out over a courtyard instead of a burned clearing.
It still felt like borrowed space. Every hallway he walked, conversations quieted slightly as he passed. Not hostile, exactly. Careful. The particular caution of people who remembered exactly what he'd been capable of only weeks before.
He didn't blame them.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. Marcus, looking older than usual, a stack of old texts under one arm.
"I thought you might want company," the elder said. "Or research. Whichever proves more useful."
"Research," Riven said. "I find I don't yet know how to simply exist without
