Aubrelle inhaled slowly, adjusting her grip on her cane as she let Pipin's vision settle over the room with crystalline clarity.
The hall had changed.
Moments ago, it had been a hum of scattered voices and wandering footsteps.
Now—
Now it pulsed with purpose.
Six families filled the chamber beneath the towering crystal chandeliers. Sylvanel druids conversed in hushed tones beside Rosenthal summoners whose spirit familiars floated like soft lights above their heads. Watercallers shaped drifting bubbles the size of pearls as they spoke with envoys from two human clans. Elven nobles exchanged ceremonious bows, all rigid with composure but tense around the eyes.
War had turned even polite gatherings into battlegrounds of subtle calculation.
Pipin's sight painted everything for her in strokes of soft white-blue:
—Lady Elenara au Sylvanel, surrounded by faintly glowing vines, speaking with two patriarchs from the human families.
