The council chamber sat high in the inner palace, where the oldest layers of the place had settled into something almost polite. The walls had stopped arguing with anyone centuries ago. They simply waited.
The emperor stood at the head of the long table rather than sitting. He had not sat properly in three days. Reports lay in ordered stacks in front of the empty chairs of those still arriving.
The air smelled of sealed parchment and the low, steady thrum of privacy wards working harder than usual.
One by one the council took their places. The Master of Tithes settled with the careful dignity of a man who preferred numbers to people.
The archivist from the central tower liaison took the seat nearest the door, as if he might need to leave quickly. Two senior marshals arrived together and sat without looking at each other.
