Tyrith's brow raised as the girl's eyes slid to emptiness and her voice changed. It wasn't much but it was still enough. Maegi. Sandro had gone mad... or perhaps not. He shot a look at the Lyseni prince. It would be like him to be so outrageous and there would be a purpose as well.
"A sweet song, Lady Sindra, though not the version I've heard before." Lost children. He thought again of Gareth Bolton, glimpsed so briefly in the library and of Kyra who Tymor had described. They were seventeen, Polonius had said in council. Seventeen. It did not take a Maester to unravel those numbers, nor those green eyes and golden hair. He glanced at Toria, his only daughter. But not quite, it would seem. Kyra was in the cells beneath the Tower of the Hand, awaiting the announcements... but it was too late to stop that. The trial would have to be arranged. "I thank you for it- it is ever interesting to hear new arrangements on the old melodies. Don't you think, Toria?"