In the Tower of Ravnos, King Thalanil Ravenspar half-listened to the wheezing, wheedling voice of Lord Reluvethel Ervyre, his long-time advisor from the north, drone on about crop yields. The amount of food produced overall was still good, but the overgrowth was slowly eating into arable land. Thalanil’s gaze went to the glass doors that lead out onto the balcony that ran around the outer edge of the tower. The sunlight beamed through the sheer curtains. He could feel its warmth. It beckoned to him. For Finrael was out there.

But he was stuck here.