The mountain was high enough that the clouds sat below them.
Noel had chosen the place carefully. Not because it was beautiful, though it was, in the cold indifferent way that places untouched by people tended to be. He had chosen it because no one would ever come here. No pilgrim. No soldier. No noble family looking to build something lasting over someone else's memory. Just rock and wind and the kind of silence that had nothing to do with peace and everything to do with distance.
Noir stood a few steps behind him, arms crossed, purple eyes fixed on the small arrangement of stones near the cliff's edge.
"I still don't like him," she said.
"I know."
"I never will."
