They took the small council chamber—the narrow one with the long window and the map-table that held the city like a patient. The sealed horn sat in its velvet sleeve near the door, mute by decree. The floor smelled faintly of wax and old paper. The room always sounded smaller than it was.
Aelthrin stood at the long side already, spine straight, hands folded as if he were keeping two thoughts from escaping. His eyes had that calm hinge look he used when rooms needed balance. Three runners waited by the threshold with their leather satchels and their restless feet, each of them leaning forward just a little, the way people do when they want to be useful.
Elowen didn't sit. She took the short end of the table where the afternoon light fell across the river district on the map. She glanced once at the horn, once at the window, then at the people. "Silent muster only," she said. "Knights in plain clothes around nodes. Witness-sap kiosks open. Nothing reaches the nobles."
