Lyra hesitated in the doorway when Eira guided her in. She could hear the steady scratching of a quill on parchment, the rustle of papers being shifted. Somewhere closer, the clink of porcelain — the sound of a cup being set down.

“You’re here,” Kieran’s voice called, deep but calm.

Eira stepped back, leaving Lyra to take the last few steps on her own. Her fingers brushed the edge of a chair, tracing the carved wood before she sat.

“You sent for me?” she asked.

“I did,” Kieran ...