The rain had deepened into a steady roar against the palace walls, the kind of storm that made the world outside blur into shadows and silver.
Kaerth stood just inside Ignareth's chamber, his back to the door, unsure if he'd made a mistake walking in without knocking. Ignareth's dark gaze swept over him like a quiet claim, and for a moment, Kaerth thought he might simply turn and leave.
Instead, Ignareth crossed the room slowly, his footsteps quiet against the rug. "It's late."
"I know," Kaerth said. His voice was low, but steady. "I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important."
Ignareth stopped just a step away from him. "Then tell me why you're here."
Kaerth's eyes flicked briefly to the window, to the way the stormlight caught the sharp planes of Ignareth's face. "Because I don't like not knowing where I stand with you."
Ignareth tilted his head, studying him. "And you think coming into my chambers in the middle of the night will answer that?"
"Maybe."
