“Authorisation not recognised,” the voice said again, but now it had changed. Instead of the flat mimicry of Sharskin the ancestors were imitating another voice, one I had known all my life. The lights about us flickered and danced, and something within the House groaned ponderously, a huge beast in pain. Melory’s face was tilted upwards, her eye sightless. Her inner light shone so brightly I could see her skull.
