The corridors of Lothian Manor opened around them like the throat of a great beast as they left the guest wing behind.
The wide public hallways were built on a scale that dwarfed the private passages of the guest wing, broad enough for twelve men to walk abreast beneath vaulted ceilings of pale stone. Heavy tapestries lined the walls, many of them old enough that their colors had softened with age, depicting the history of the Lothian line from the founding of the march to the victories of the War of Inches.
Jocelynn had walked these corridors a hundred times before, but tonight they had been transformed. Brass oil lamps had been fixed to the walls at close intervals, their flames casting a warm, steady light that made the faded colors of the tapestries bloom as though the scenes woven into them had come alive.
