Trafalgar went in first, and Moses came a step behind him.
Valttair was waiting, seated behind a broad desk at the top of the fortress, and the window at his back gave the room away for what it was. It ran the full height of the wall, and through it lay almost the whole castle, black stone dropping in tiers down the mountainside to the white peaks beyond, all of it going gold at the edges in the failing light.
Out on the landing shelf, small from this height, sat Alfred's ship, the thing the old man doted on like a daughter, wings folded and waiting to carry Trafalgar home.
The patriarch did not rise. He let Trafalgar cross the floor to him, the way he let most things come to him. Even seated and holding his presence in tight, the man filled the room. That much had not eased since the family hall. Paradox sat under his skin like a held tide, and a person felt the pull of it whether Valttair meant them to or not.
