The Rhisiart manse is set back from the street by a wall surrounding a small courtyard. Plants in pots crowd the edges, the variegated greens of their leaves contrasting against the orange brick of the house. Inside, a servant leads the way through a small entrance corridor and into a tall central hall with balconies above. "This way, please," he says, as a familiar figure turns and gapes at them. "Ffion!" Ithel doesn't sound pleased. The room they are led to, Ithel eyeing them nervously as he walks before them, is divided in two by the walkway down the middle. Slim decorative wooden pillars separate the walkway from the sides of the room, where several groups of chairs are arranged so as to allow multiple sets of people to sit and talk without interfering with each other. At the end of the walkway stands an old woman. It doesn't look like the chairs are an option for this meeting. "Well, well, have you decided to join us at last?" she says as Ithel reaches her side and turns to look at Ffion and Inric. "And who's this?" "A friend," Ffion says, gathering her courage to face her grant-aunt. "And no. I've come to talk. I've got questions I need to ask you."