Chapter 30. The Unmasking

The vast chamber known as the Great Den lay in half-light, the only illumination a handful of flickering braziers set into iron sconces along the walls. Their flames danced across the rough-hewn stone, sending shadows scuttling like startled insects. A cold draft whispered through the narrow windows high above, rattling the timbers in the vaulted rafters so that the whole hall seemed to shiver with age. The air was heavy, as though the many breaths drawn here over centuries had grown too laden to exhale fully, and every inhalation tasted faintly of damp earth and old ash.

Along the raised dais thirteen chairs stood in silent vigil, each hewn from dark stonewood and carved with the winding sigils of houses long fallen to dust. The polished armrests gleamed where hands had worn them smooth. In every seat sat a figure draped in robes the color of storm clouds—folds of cloth that spoke of centuries of duty, of solemn vows spoken in candlelight. The assembly was still as statues, t