"Before we go, I'd like to see my grandmother." Isolde asked quietly. The two were in the hall the only noise was the sound of their steps, "She might be able to help us, and you promised me-"
"Very well." Elynor's tone was clipped, his jaw tight as he led her down the corridor. The castle was quieter now, the corridors dimly lit by flickering sconces. The air smelled of polished wood and burning tallow, faintly metallic with the presence of guards at the corners. Isolde kept pace beside him, her fingers worrying at the edge of her cloak. She could feel his tension in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed occasionally at his sides. He was still upset with his mother, still processing the words that had been exchanged. She understood that—understood the way family wounds cut deepest. The thought of her own mother flickered in her mind, but she pushed it away. "Shall we go now?"
