“Why do you think I come home so often, sister, if not for the good food?” “To plot and scheme?” Hasar asked sweetly. Sartaq’s smile turned subdued. “If only I had time for such things.” A shadow seemed to pass over Sartaq’s face—and Chaol marked where the prince’s gaze drifted. The white banners still streamed from the windows set high in the walls of the hall, now caught in what was surely the heralding wind of a thunderstorm. A man who perhaps wished he’d possessed extra time for more vital parts of his life.
