He heard the doors open before he saw her.
The court had been still for some minutes, arranged on either side of the hall in the formation Atlin had established for occasions that required witnesses. He had been watching the doors. He watched most things. It was a habit that had kept him alive, then kept his city alive. He saw no reason to stop.
The woman who walked through them was not Meeka Von Vellacourt.
He knew it before she had taken three steps. He had the intelligence files. He knew the family, the daughters, the differences between them. The firstborn was taller, described by three separate sources as commanding in a room, someone who moved like she owned whatever floor she stood on. This woman was smaller. The dress she wore was too long, the hem dragging slightly, the shoulde
