Sebastian was exhausted. He was too old for late nights laced with anxiety, especially when morning came early and with morning came responsibility. He'd been asleep less than three hours when his manservant gently shook him awake—nearly losing an eye before Sebastian realized he wasn't being attacked; he'd have to speak to the servants about that—and guided him through his morning ablutions. Even now, several hours later, he still felt drowsy, and all the tea in the world was doing nothing to help keep him alert.
When the soft knock came on his study door, he assumed it was Corwin and called out for the man to enter. However, when he looked up, it was not his Steward standing in the doorway but Kiara, looking almost bashful—in addition to perfectly wide-awake. Even after her nighttime rambles. He wondered how she managed it.
Pushing himself upright, he offered her a polite bow.
She laughed lightly, but he noticed the way her hands were twisted in her pale grey skirts, and how her eyes didn't quite rise to meet his. "Are we backtracking now, Sebastian?" she asked. "Will it be always bowing and curtsying and Your Highness and my lady?"
"You're the one hovering in my doorway looking as though you fear being sent away. Won't you come in? Or are you on your way elsewhere?"
Even her smile was oddly shy, but she did take another step into the room before pausing again. "I—remembered you mentioning your paperwork. I… thought I might see if you needed help."
"You know I was joking about putting you to work as my secretary."
This broadened her smile somewhat. "I know. But I'd rather help you than…"
When she drifted into silence, Sebastian filled in the blank. "Tasia wanted you to do something… ladylike, didn't she?"
Kiara scowled. "There may have been talk of embroidery."
"Maker forbid." He gestured for her to take the seat opposite him. She crossed the room and perched on the edge of the chair, gaze darting from the stacks of paper on his desk to the tepid tea to the pile of quills in need of sharpening.
She glanced up at him and then down at her hands once again. "If you prefer to be alone…"
He chuckled and repeated, "Maker forbid. No, Corwin will join me shortly, and I'm sure he'll be all too happy to put you to work. How are you at forging signatures?"
"Frighteningly proficient, actually."
"Why am I not surprised?"
She stood, leaning over his desk; blushing, he studiously looked anywhere but at the expanse of skin her action displayed. Reaching for a blank piece of parchment and a quill, she took a long look at a document already sporting his signature. Then, very carefully, virtually flawlessly, she recreated it.
"That's…"
"Not very ladylike, I suppose?" she finished, grinning. "But much more useful than embroidery."
He did not protest, although he was growing increasingly fond of the embroidery even now decorating the neckline of her gown. Embroidery was a lovely invention as far as he was concerned. Blinking, he returned his gaze to the perfect scrawl of his signature and the quill still held between her slender fingers.
"My pen is yours to command," she added. "I promise to use it for good. I learned my lesson when I was young and stupid."
"Oh?"
"I sent a forged love letter to the maddest girl in Lothering, having no idea she'd been crazy about Carver for ages. She believed every word in the letter, and started telling everyone she and Carver were going to get married. Poor Carve didn't want to hurt her feelings, but it got so bad he would hide if he thought he saw her coming toward him in the street. Eventually I had to own up to the truth. I… broke her heart, a little. It was foolish of me. I felt terrible."
A shadow passed over her face as she mentioned her brother, but before Sebastian could offer his condolences, she said, "I'm worried about something."
"Did you send someone else a false love letter?"
She shook her head, wearing the ghost of a smile. "No. It's only… what if Varric and Isabela bring Amelle here? What if she doesn't get my letter in time?"
"It went by way of a fast courier, Kiara. I'm certain it will arrive before Varric and Isabela do. The mountain passes can be challenging. They will not make the trip as quickly as one accustomed to the route."
Her eyes widened. "Will they be safe? I-I didn't even think about them not being safe."
He smiled, attempting to reassure her. "The roads are clearly marked. Varric will keep Isabela from wandering off, I'm sure."
One corner of Kiara's mouth turned up. "Now that you're a prince, you should see about getting her boat back. She really was distraught."
"It's a ship," he corrected, mimicking Isabela's voice.
She laughed, but only for a moment. Then the shadows returned, and her brow furrowed. "It's just…"
"You're allowed to worry."
"Don't let Amelle hear you say that. She'll give you her patented 'I'm a big girl who controls fireballs and can burn your face off' speech." Kiara gazed past him to the fireplace, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I was… thinking."
He raised an eyebrow.
She continued reluctantly, "About the… problem in the city. One thing will… usually trump fear."
"And that is?"
"Money," she replied. "As much as I wish you could just order people to stop fearing mages—and as much as I wish they would listen to that order—I know it doesn't work that way. But what if… what if we change the game? What if… we offered a bounty? For captured mages. Or for information leading to the capture of a mage."
He frowned, leaning forward on his elbows and peering at her over his steepled fingers. "It would not foster a… climate welcoming of magic. The fear would still rule. You must see that."
She sighed. "Baby steps? The thing is… if we work with the Chantry, with the templars, we can prove whether the accused even possess magic; I feel relatively certain none of them will. If we offer money only for the genuine article, and only for the living… we may save lives. Or at least go some way to preventing burnings. Even the most bloodthirsty mob would prefer their pockets be lined with coin, I think."
"I don't—"
"Her plan has merit, Your Highness."
Sebastian started. Bloody Corwin. He was going to attach bells to the man. The Steward bowed and added, "Forgive me, my lord. The door was open. Lady Hawke, a pleasure."
Sebastian shook his head, pushing a hand through his hair. "You don't think this would inspire an even greater witch hunt, then?"
Corwin inclined his head, permitting Kiara to speak. "It might," she admitted. "But only at first. Gradually they'll learn their neighbors and friends and family members aren't harboring any secret mages—or secret magic of their own—and I think the fervor will die down. Perhaps then damage control could be implemented. It's just I was… I was considering what you said, about how knocking heads together mightn't be the best way of solving this particular problem. This… seemed like a different option."
Sebastian gave her a considering glance. He thought the color rose slightly in her cheeks, but it could just as easily been a trick of the light.
Corwin added, "You do have a meeting with the Revered Mother this afternoon, Your Highness. You could speak with her then, see what she thinks."
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "How reasonable is she?"
"Very, as far as I know. She has vocally disapproved of the way the city is currently treating its… mages. I believe she, too, would see the merit in Lady Hawke's plan."
"We'll discuss it with her then, I suppose."
The Steward cleared his throat meaningfully. "I… heard there was a situation last night. With the pretender prince."
Kiara spoke first. "He says his name is Morven Vael. Does that mean anything to you?"
"Ahh," said Corwin.
"Ahh?" echoed Sebastian.
"Ghosts always do come back to haunt. I suppose it was foolish to believe them gone simply because they were silent."
Incredulous, Sebastian shook his head. "You're not telling me the bastard was speaking the truth?"
"At first no one talked of them because the mere mention of Connall Vael—the elder—brought your grandfather to tears. He had two sons, aye. One tried to kill the other to solidify his own power. He failed, and was banished. A story was spread of murder on the road to Antiva. After a time it became habit not to speak of them, and then… and then I believe out of sight genuinely became out of mind. They were forgotten. The story was believed."
Sebastian stood and began pacing, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. "How did I never hear of it? How did no one mention them as… as suspects in the murder of my family? Surely—"
"Everyone believed them dead, my lord. Ghosts do not conspire against the crown." Corwin sighed. "Connall Vael is dead. He… killed himself years ago. It is certain. His body was seen by the Eyes. Morven and his mother disappeared afterward. I-I am embarrassed, my lord, not to have considered the possibility myself. Your Highness—"
"No," Sebastian said. "Enough of him. I will speak with him again when—if—he wakes. For now, we must deal with matters at hand. I will lose no more of my subjects to this madness in the city."
"If you would prefer, I can return when you and the lady Hawke are finished your audience."
"Oh," said Kiara brightly—just brightly enough Sebastian knew she was trying to cheer him by adopting false cheer herself, "I'm here to help. I'm going to be Sebastian's secretary. At least until he promotes me to head of his secret spy network."
Corwin raised his eyebrows, and Sebastian felt the faint heat of a blush in his cheeks. "Why, that is a promotion, my lady. Prince Sebastian must think highly of you indeed."
Kiara, oblivious, continued, "You see? I can sign all Sebastian's papers for him while he paces and grimaces at the walls and makes decisions about…" she shuffled through one of the piles and snickered. "Is this one here honestly asking him to decide about new draperies for a sitting room?" Affecting a very serious tone, she asked, "Your Highness, would you prefer blue velvet or gold?" Without waiting for him to answer, she asked Corwin, "Could I ask them for purple with pink and yellow polka dots?"
"They would endeavor to find such a thing if you asked in his name, aye."
Picking up a quill, Kiara scribbled a note, chuckling under her breath all the while.
"Dare I ask?" Sebastian asked.
"Ducklings!" she cried. "Blue velvet with yellow ducklings."
"Ahh," said Corwin. "I see you are not a woman to be trifled with, Lady Hawke. I will let you make all the difficult choices."
"And I can be as ridiculous as I want?"
"Imagine you are a prince and tailor your ridiculousness to the level of the inquiry."
"I can do that."
Smiling to herself, Kiara curled up in her chair and began reading the papers Corwin handed her way. Sebastian watched until the Steward looked up and met his eyes. The old man's smile was all too knowing. Keeping his own expression carefully bland, Sebastian returned to his desk and began making his way through his own stack of papers. If he glanced up rather more often than usual, he attested it to the sleepless night and not the woman sitting opposite him, chewing on the end of her quill and laughing.
The morning did pass more quickly than usual, however. He had to acknowledge that.
#
When the door to Sebastian's office opened, admitting a small, slender woman whose hair was not grey and whose face was unlined, Kiara only rose because Sebastian did. Two templars followed, flanking her, but still Kiara waited for another woman to enter. An older woman. It wasn't until she recognized the robes of a Revered Mother that she blinked and gave a polite curtsey. The Revered Mother's lips curved into a faint smile; evidently Kiara was not the first to underestimate her based on first impressions alone.
Perhaps because she—knowingly or not—had been expecting a Starkhavenite version of Elthina, Kiara couldn't help being taken aback by how very young the Revered Mother was to hold such a post. Her hair was so pale a blonde any threads of silver in it were lost, and though very faint lines marred the skin at her eyes and around her lips, Kiara thought them laugh lines rather than those of encroaching age. If the woman had reached her fortieth year, Kiara vowed she'd eat her own boots, right down to the sole.
Still, there was something reserved about her. The Revered Mother's clear, hazel eyes were calculating. A moment later, Kiara recognized the look: she was evaluating them. She had not yet decided how she felt about this new prince, who had yet to prove himself and who'd come back to Starkhaven with a woman in tow who'd been party to the most horrific act in recent Chantry history.
Kiara supposed she could hardly blame her, for all that. In fact, she found herself rather respecting the woman. Calculating and evaluating meant the Revered Mother was withholding judgment until she could form opinions of her own.
That was such a welcome change Kiara found herself smiling without any reserve of her own.
"Ahh," said the Revered Mother by way of greeting, "and you must be the visitors who caused Sister Leena such anxiety upon your arrival. I am only sorry I was not there to greet you myself."
"Your Reverence," Sebastian said. "I wish this meeting could have happened under better circumstances."
A shadow passed over the woman's features. "As do I, Your Highness, as do I. I am afraid… I am afraid the people of Starkhaven have turned away from the Maker in their fear. It bodes ill for all of us."
"Is it true they're accusing you of harboring mages?"
The Revered Mother's eyebrows arched, and Kiara swallowed hard. The woman didn't even need to speak to make Kiara feel she had, perhaps, spoken out of turn. When the Revered Mother did speak, however, it was not to admonish. "Indeed. We are not, incidentally. If there are mages in Starkhaven, they're hidden well. This has not been a safe city for mages, not since the Circle burned."
"Erilynn was Revered Mother then, was she not?" Sebastian asked. "Forgive me. I had not heard she'd passed."
The Revered Mother inclined her head. "I remember you, Prince Sebastian, but I imagine you do not remember me. I was only a newly raised Sister when you left, and you had not yet learned the value of time spent in the chantry, then. Our paths rarely crossed."
Sebastian blinked, and Kiara saw the astonishment cross his face as he realized the woman didn't simply look young, she was. "But that… is a remarkable…"
The Revered Mother laughed, and something about the sound made Kiara rest easier. "My name is Illona. And aye, I suppose not many attain the place I have in the time I have done it. The Maker moves mysteriously, and you must admit He sometimes has plans we could never anticipate. I no more thought I would be Revered Mother than you thought you'd be Prince, I daresay. Yet here we are."
"Here we are," Sebastian agreed quietly, gesturing at the three chairs arranged in a semi-circle by the fireplace. "Won't you please sit?"
Whatever the Revered Mother had been expecting, if the quick furrowing of her eyebrows and twitch at the corner of her mouth was any indication, a seat by the fire hadn't been it. She looked between them both for an instant and smiled before turning and gliding across the floor. She chose the center chair and Kiara arched an internal eyebrow. Either it was chance, or the Revered Mother wanted to see what might happen if she and Sebastian were not side by side for this particular interview.
Kiara tried very hard not to think of it as a variation of divide and conquer.
As Illona sat, her skirts whispered in a hush of material around her. She folded her hands in her lap and smiled up at Sebastian. "I confess, I'd thought for a moment you planned on speaking to me from behind that monstrosity of a desk."
Kiara snuck a glance at Sebastian; she could tell he felt vaguely sheepish now, though he was doing an admirable job of hiding it. He doesn't want to ask her about the bounty court so he's trying to butter her up. Maker's balls, you're sneakier than I give you credit for sometimes, Sebastian.
"With respect, Your Reverence, conversation across such a surface frequently requires a great deal of shouting." Kiara even had to commend him on his delivery—respectful without being stuffy or pretentious, with just a hint of humor so he didn't come off as a pompous ass or a ridiculous clod.
And, Kiara noticed as she took her own seat, the Revered Mother didn't appear to have been offended by his attempt at humor. So there was that.
"I imagine these walls have seen a great many shouting matches over the years, Your Highness. Wise of you not to rush things in that regard."
Sebastian froze momentarily as he took his seat, his eyes flicking to Kiara and she saw he was wondering the same thing she was—it was difficult not to hear the hint of something more in the Revered Mother's words.
But Revered Mother Illona caught the silence and the look and laughed again, shaking her head. "Come now. I hardly think we will make any progress at all if we search for hidden messages in every word. I meant what I said, Your Highness—there will be plenty of time for heated debate later. We need not enter into that brand of discussion on my very first visit."
Kiara had the distinct feeling she didn't want to get into a debate with this woman, heated or otherwise.
And she didn't think it was wise to stop parsing the woman's words for nuances and hidden messages, just because she told them to.
"Ahh, the Champion of Kirkwall does not trust me," Illona said. Kiara blinked.
"Kiara Hawke," Kiara said in response. "This isn't Kirkwall. And, begging your pardon, Your Reverence, I don't know you. It seems unwise to trust anyone you don't know. I… do not mean any offense."
Illona's smile faded, turning thoughtful, even as her eyes narrowed. "Then you will not be offended when I say I have little enough reason to trust you, either, Kiara Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. I believe the Grand Cleric knew you and trusted you, and things went rather ill for her."
Sebastian froze, his jaw clenching, but when he spoke his voice was the same measured, reassuring calm. "Kiara was as grieved by Her Grace's death—and the manner of it—as any of us, Revered Mother."
"Nor did I mean to accuse her—"
"Did you not?" Sebastian asked. "Forgive me, Your Reverence, but I do not believe you."
"Sebastian…"
Sebastian only shook his head, and his expression pled for silence. Kiara bit down on the end of her tongue and watched as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Starkhaven is in danger. The people of Starkhaven are in danger, and right now? The danger appears to be coming from within, rather than without. Kiara might make a convenient target—the pretender certainly thought so—but she is not to blame. I will have that made perfectly clear. Your Reverence."
"You spent a fair number of years as priest before putting that crown on your head," Illona said. "And yet it has taken you a week to consult with me. Protocol dictates—"
Sebastian bowed his head. "I know what protocol dictates. And I know I ought to have seen you before this. I was—"
"Distracted?" Illona asked pointedly, her gaze flicking over Kiara so rapidly that she almost thought she'd imagined it.
But whatever she'd thought imagined, Sebastian had seen too. His eyes flashed, his fingers closed into fists, and his tone was one of barely controlled anger. "By any number of things, aye, and most of them more pressing than making sure the Revered Mother knew a new arse sat on the throne of Starkhaven."
Kiara was watching closely, and so she saw the crack in the surface of the Revered Mother's implacable calm. She just wasn't certain if the crack indicated the line between enemy or ally. She feared it was one or the other.
"I thought we'd have time enough for pleasantries and… and protocol when the people we're meant to be protecting and watching over weren't burning one another in the streets."
The silence that followed was vast, and Kiara looked rapidly between Sebastian and the Revered Mother—except he wasn't just Sebastian anymore. Right now, he was the prince, and everything from the set of his jaw to the tension radiating through his body, to the stubborn tilt of his chin made that entirely clear. Kiara bit her tongue and she realized she'd been holding her breath.
"You are a man with priorities, then."
"We all have priorities, Your Reverence. Much of the time it comes down to whose priorities align with ours."
Kiara's heart pounded in her ears as she watched them. We need her on our side, Sebastian, she thought at him, as loudly as she could.
"And you're wondering whether our priorities… align, I assume, Your Highness?"
"At the moment, I am hoping they will, Reverence. But I do not, as yet, know for certain."
The Revered Mother leaned back a little in her chair and cocked her head slightly, her eyes narrowed in what looked more like scrutiny than scorn. "Then perhaps you might tell me what your priorities are?"
Some of the rigidity left Sebastian's shoulders as he inclined his head at the Revered Mother and said, "I believe I have shared my main priority with you already."
The look the other woman gave him was utterly inscrutable. "Humor me."
Sebastian let out a sigh and pushed a hand through his hair. "I want to see the madness in Starkhaven's streets stop. I want never to hear utterance of another person being burned alive. I want neighbor to stop turning on neighbor. I want people to stop being afraid. This is their home—no one should be made to live in fear in their own home. I want to see rule and law and order restored. Those are my priorities, Your Reverence."
"That is… quite a list," said the Revered Mother, still watching him closely.
"These burnings must stop," he replied, and the emotion in his voice, so close to desperation, made his accent all the sharper. "Before anything else is done, that must end."
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the flames in the hearth. Illona bowed her head and Kiara narrowed her eyes, looking for any hint that the gesture was affected, but she saw none. When the Revered Mother raised her chin, something of the serene mask had been lowered, and the pain in her eyes was evident.
"Then our priorities most certainly align, Prince Sebastian," she said, "but I fear you will meet with the same difficulties I have done." She twisted her hands in her lap. "When the first… rumors reached me, I tried to stamp them out. I did all I could think to do. I sent templars into the streets; I spoke lengthily during services; I had brothers and sisters ministering from dawn until dusk. Then the rumors became murders, and the murderers were so… convinced, and so terrified, they turned even against the Chantry. You… you saw how the chantry sits empty. I have lost one templar to the fires, and half a dozen more have been beaten to within an inch of their lives by mobs in the streets. There… there is no reason to appeal to, and if they will not listen even to the Maker…"
"Money," Kiara said abruptly. "They may not listen to the Maker or their prince or reason, but they might listen to money."
The Revered Mother's nose wrinkled ever so slightly, as though Kiara's words had left a tangible odor she found offensive. "I do not see how."
"People… like money. They'll do a great deal for it. I think they might stop burning the mages—the false mages—if they are told a live, unharmed mage will net them gold."
The wrinkled nose became an expression of complete disgust. "You mean to bribe them?"
Kiara swallowed hard, glancing toward Sebastian. He still looked uneasy, but he nodded. "The promise of gold. For a genuine mage. But… but I think for it to work, we need your help. Everyone knows a templar can detect a mage. People will bring their suspects to the palace. To… to an open court of some kind, expecting to be paid. But the templars will prove the mages are only—only brothers and sisters and neighbors. Those who bring them in will be shamed. I-I think shame may curb some of the fear, and I certainly hope it will throw cold water on the madness that's been leading to pyres in the street."
Some of the disgust faded, but Illona still looked thoughtful. "And if they bring you a genuine mage? Your… sympathies are known, Champion. What will you do then?"
Kiara exhaled hard through her nose, pressing her lips together. She'd known a question like this one had to be coming, and she wondered exactly what and how much the Revered Mother knew about her sympathies and how much they'd been… misrepresented. Finally, she shook her head. "I think even a genuine mage would prefer to be brought to the Circle than burned alive."
Though she knew—she knew—there were those who wouldn't.
Illona watched her closely, eyes narrowed just a fraction, and Kiara felt the smallest spark of anger. Let her search my words for a falsehood if she likes, she thought. Given that sort of choice I'd rather see Mely in the Circle than burned at the stake too.
Of course, Kiara's plan would then include breaking her sister out of said Circle and hightailing it for somewhere safe. She remembered how surprisingly tolerant King Alistair had been regarding the issue of mages when she spoke with him in Kirkwall. But that was a worry born of a hypothetical question, and that sort of thinking would do her no good at all.
"You realize," Illona said, "Starkhaven has no Circle to speak of."
"Then perhaps a genuine mage might simply be remanded into the Chantry's custody until a more permanent arrangement might be found."
"Incarceration?" Illona asked. There was the strangest hint of something in her voice and Kiara had only just begun to bristle when she realized the Revered Mother was baiting her.
"No," Kiara answered evenly, shaking her head. "There is no… no shame in being a Circle mage, but nor should there be shame in wanting to live a life beyond stone walls." With your family. "I have no objection with the idea of the Circle itself, you must understand." Kiara sent Sebastian a brief glance, only to see he was watching her with such burning intensity that she discovered it was suddenly difficult not to fidget. But his look gave nothing away, and she wasn't sure if he was pleased, or if she was on the verge of setting off an international incident.
"But…?" prompted the Revered Mother.
Kiara pursed her lips and thought, wryly, In for a copper… "Neither do I think being a mage is a crime."
"You do realize, according to Chantry law, being an apostate is."
"If a genuine mage is found—which I highly doubt will happen—then offer that mage sanctuary in the chantry. Treating mages like criminals, taking them into custody and incarcerating them—again, assuming a true mage is found—won't ease people's fear of mages, Your Reverence. And fear is what we're trying to combat."
"And you, Your Highness?" Illona asked. "You condone this plan?"
"Not without reservation," he replied, "but I value Kiara—Lady Hawke's opinion, and my Steward believes there is some merit to it."
"Corwin?"
Sebastian blinked and nodded.
"That was wise of you."
The Revered Mother rose abruptly, and, as if on strings, Kiara and Sebastian followed suit. Glancing about the room once more, Illona said, "I believe it is a plan worth attempting." Then her sharp gaze turned once again to Sebastian. "Whatever your reservations, you must set them aside. I… understand the uniqueness of your position, but for all Lady Hawke's cleverness, this stratagem must seem to have originated with you, and you must support it wholeheartedly."
Kiara winced. "Or they'll think I'm trying to—"
Illona nodded firmly. "Aye, that is precisely what they'll think, name casts a long shadow. I would not see Starkhaven lost to it."
Bowing her head slightly, Kiara said, "Nor would I, Your Reverence."
In a gentler tone, Illona added, "I believe your sincerity, Lady Hawke. And it is a good plan. I think it may even stand a chance of working."
"As long as it's not tainted by association," Kiara said bitterly.
Illona's smile was a sad one, and not without pity. "I see we understand each other. I… must admit I was not expecting to do so."
Though he said nothing, Kiara could feel the tension radiating off of Sebastian.
But the Revered Mother wasn't wrong. And he knew it.
And Kiara didn't want to see him lost to her long shadow, either.
Illona brushed her hands down the front of her robes before clasping them loosely before her. For all her youthfulness, in that instant she looked every inch the Revered Mother, serene and collected and very much aware of her power. Kiara fought down the urge to genuflect. "I will send templars, so you may have them on hand in case word of this… bounty spreads quickly." Then she looked at Sebastian, and her brow furrowed. "This is a… delicate time for you, Your Highness. You must start as you mean to go on. The precedents you set now will haunt you all your reign."
Sebastian inclined his head, but Kiara could see his jaw working.
"I do not say these things to cause offense—"
"Then please," Sebastian replied very, very evenly, "do not say them. I am aware."
"I see that you are. Forgive me, Your Highness."
"No forgiveness is necessary, Your Reverence. You spoke as you felt you must."
Kiara felt, just a little, as though she'd missed something. She almost asked, once the Revered Mother had taken her leave, but Sebastian still looked too grim, and he buried himself so completely in his work, she knew he did not wish to speak of it. Very aware of her shadow, Kiara curled into the chair on the opposite side of his desk and read pointless missives until her eyes blurred, and Corwin arrived to inform them it was time to dress for dinner.
