Sealord Of Braavos Novels & Stories

One of the Thrones rose. He stepped down from his seat with a slow, deliberate grace. He was taller than the others, his robe threaded with starlight and frost. When he moved, the torches in the hall dimmed, as if the light itself bent away from his authority. His face was not wholly human; it carried an ageless cruelty, a sculpted statue of justice. When he spoke, his voice was a winter that spread through bone and stone. “Selene Emberlain,” he said, each syllable measured and absolute. “What madness brings you to the Hall of the Thrones?”