The Regent’s hall was built to inspire awe. High ceilings arched above like the ribs of some great beast, banners of crimson and gold spilling down the stone walls. The lions stitched into their fabric glared with eternal defiance, their claws sharp, their jaws wide. Torches flared in iron sconces, filling the chamber with warmth and the smoke of pitch.
But even here, in the heart of power, the air was thick with unease. The murmurs of fear that had spread through Duskmoor seeped into this hall like smoke through cracks in stone.
The Regent sat upon his throne, a massive chair carved of black oak and gilded at its edges. The crown on his head was not large, but it weighed heavily. His hair, streaked with gray, clung damp to his temples. Shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes. He had n
