The corridor upstairs was quiet.

Lyanna was sitting on the floor outside the right-hand door. Not against the wall this time, cross-legged in the middle of the corridor, close to the door but not pressed against it. She was talking in a low voice, not the flat informational register, something softer and more continuous, the quality of someone narrating to a person who needed sound more than content.

I stopped at the top of the stairs and listened.

She was describing the palace. The specific ...