The family gathered in the formal sitting room just before dawn.
Altair arrived to find his mother already there, seated in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace. She'd changed from her bedside vigil clothes into a formal black dress, her hair pulled back severely. Her eyes were red but dry. She'd cried herself out hours ago.
Zara sat beside her, looking smaller than Altair remembered. She was fourteen now—nearly fifteen—but in that moment, she looked like a child. Her face was pale, her hands folded tightly in her lap. When she saw Altair enter, pure relief flickered in her expression.
"Altair," she said softly.
He crossed the room and pulled her into a brief embrace. She held onto him tightly for a moment before letting go.
"I'm glad you're home," she whispered.
"Me too."
