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entered the gloomy keep interior.
The tall, narrow passageway wasn’t much
better than the exterior. Slender windows set
high in the walls permitted little light, and
ancient braziers cast flickering shadows on
the stones. Threadbare tapestries hung
intermittently, and no sounds—not music, not
laughter, not conversation—greeted them.
This drafty, ancient house had been his
home? Compared to the khagan’s palace, it
was a hovel, not fit for ruks to roost.
“My father,” Chaol murmured so their
escort wouldn’t hear, no doubt reading the
dismay on Yrene’s face, “doesn’t believe in
wasting his coffers on improvements. If it
hasn’t collapsed, then it’s not broken.”
Yrene tried to smile at the attempt at
humor, tried to do it for his sake, but her
temper roiled with every step down the hall.
Their silent escort at last paused before two