"Hive?" His voice came out low, as if he didn't want to wake the cliff.
He held very still with his mouth closed and his ribs a little lifted. The answer came like a note plucked on a string running through his spine: thin, proud, patient. Not loud, not demanding—present. The Queen. Faint, but hers. A pressure in the air behind the thought, like a distant heartbeat he remembered from a dream.
Silvarion. The word settled into him like warm bread. He swallowed once, because the inside of his mouth had gone dry from all the sudden geography.
