We bunch up as we near the entryway, nerves slowing everyone but not me. I force out a breath and step briskly past the two boys blocking the gap. If I can’t belong here, I can at least look like it. I catch Archer’s back as he moves ahead, and try to match his sure stride across the courtyard, with the others falling behind us in a scattered trail.
The entry hall smacks of intimidation the moment we breach the doors. Stone, polished and cold, gleams beneath banners of blue and silver that look more like battle standards than decoration. Columns stretch in perfect order down the sides, flanking us like sentries, and every footstep rings up to the high-arched ceiling, the sound ricocheting around until I can’t tell whose steps are whose.
Stone and echo—the language of power. Every banner
