Mo Zenith's study was a room that had learnt to hold two lives at once. Old scrolls lined the walls beside a bank of modern communication displays. A traditional tea set sat on the same low table as a holographic map of the sect's holdings, and neither looked out of place.
Mo rose from behind his desk as we came in. Li had been right. The Sect Leader looked older than he had at the banquet only weeks ago—the lines around his eyes deeper, his shoulders held a little too straight. But his whole face changed when he saw his daughter.
"My daughter," he said.
"Father." Seraphina went into his arms without hesitation.
He held her for a long moment, then held her at arm's length to look at her properly, the way fathers do when they are checking for damage. "You're tired. You've been carrying this since the message came."
"I'm fine," she said. They both knew what that word was worth today. "Having Arthur here helps."
