She turned and found herself facing a long table of somber-looking men. The Commanders. Some were old. Some were not so old. Their table was set about a foot or so higher than the floor where they sat scrutinizing each and every one of them. Hard luminescent faces, with severe lines around their eyes and mouths, created by the only candlelight from white pillar candles. A fine tulle with spirals of gold throughout, decorated the Commander's table. Gold wine goblets bore the seal of the Knights of the Witenagemont, with a black spider on its web against the bare, white dome of a skull.
Stephen sat dead center of this table in a taller chair than the rest. His gaze had drifted across the faces of each inductee, and then settled momentarily on her. It softened when their eyes met. His lips c
