Kaelyn regarded Lady Kyra with an impassive face that quickly warmed to something approaching welcome. In the last months, she'd been a source of help and amusement, and a reliable Northron sensibility. Kyra's sweet face held none of the wretched scheming of those born at court, and she understood what it felt like to be alone here, having been married off to one of Selester Tyrell's sons, who seemed to be about as warm as William had been in their first days of marriage.
"The Archmaester?" she asked, suddenly confused. They'd lied to her, the maesters. They'd lied about Gwyn. They didn't care if her baby died. Not any of them. She was so tired...
"The... blue, I think. Yes. Blue." She drew Kyra to her feet and put her arm in the younger lady's. "Why do I have a meeting with the Archmaester?" she asked softly.