The quiet in Saelira's castle was different from the quiet of home.
It wasn't warm. Or comforting. Or filled with the scent of lilac and fire the way Malvoria's palace had become.
No, this silence was carved from centuries of battle and restraint. It echoed in the high-vaulted ceilings, in the ancient stone walls veined with protective magic, in the cold dark windows that reflected the mountain peaks outside.
Elysia sat curled on one end of a velvet settee in Saelira's private living chamber, Kaelith asleep against her chest.
The baby had fussed briefly after the teleportation, but exhaustion and perhaps instinct had finally lulled her into rest.
Her tiny fingers now clutched the edge of Elysia's sleeve, her head nestled under Elysia's chin.
Malvoria sat beside her, one arm resting protectively behind her shoulders, the other still bearing faint burn marks from the magical backlash earlier.
