Page 10

The thought offers no comfort.

I roll the parchment tightly and place it beside the scales.

The footman taps his staff against the floor. “You should bow when accepting a Council order.”

“You should leave before the fylvek absorbs more dust from the street.”

Resentment pinches his mouth, but he turns toward the door.

“You were warned,” he says.

“About the bow?”

“About dawn.”

He steps outside. I close the door before another gust carries grit across the floor.

The latch falls into place.

Jory remains behind the workbench, hands braced against its edge.

“What did they accuse you of?”

“Nothing.”

“Councils do not summon humans for nothing.”

“They included no reason.”

His face loses what little color it had. “Should we close the apothecary?”

“No.”

“What if you do not return?”

“Closing today will not improve my chances.”

He stares at the scroll. “Matron Zira controls the breeding records.”

“I know.”

“My cousin was transferred by one of her decrees.”

“I know that too.”

Jory’s family has served as healers among the human stock for generations. He knows how quickly a mark on parchment can divide parents from children or move a woman between houses. His fear requires no encouragement.

I place the summons beneath the iron weight beside the ledger.

“Finish hanging the fylvek.”

His eyes rise to mine. “Now?”

“The grass will not preserve itself because the Council has developed an interest in me.”

He returns to the drying frame. His fingers shake as he ties the next bundle. I correct the spacing once and leave the crooked knot alone.

Routine should restore the shape of the morning.