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"It is still too much."

His crimson attention shifts to the bottle in my hand. Respect appears there, narrow and conditional.

"Then remember us when the next batch is prepared."

Not generosity. A Volvath investment in continued access.

I accept it.

The iron-grey guard rises. "Your treatment will be judged by its result."

"As it should be."

The mottled guard stands more slowly. His shoulders lift with another testing breath.

"You have my gratitude, apothecary."

He uses my occupation rather than my name. The distinction remains clear. I am useful, not equal, and his gratitude does not erase the order of Galmoleth.

It is still more than I possessed a week ago.

The three guards leave. Their armor recedes down the corridor until the solarium returns to the rustle of drying plants and the low vibration of repaired conduits.

Miana closes the door.

"They are not the only ones asking," she says.

I retie the kaffo pouch. "How many?"

"Servants from two neighboring spires. One belongs to House Velkar. The other would not name her house, but her collar bears green stones. They want lung tonic, burn salve, and something for poisoned metallic sap."

"Can they pay?"

"Some can. Others know traders who can obtain what you need."

"And what do the traders want?"

"Reliable remedies. Discretion. News from House Obsidius when news is safe to share."

There it is.

Trade moving beneath rank. Information traveling with laundry, patrol changes, herb bundles, and servants who are ignored by the nobles they attend. Miana has not merely found customers. She has opened routes between spires.

"No household secrets," I say. "No guard placements. Nothing that endangers servants."

"Agreed."

"Medical warnings, market prices, supply shortages, and public court movements only."

She twists the golden wire around her finger. "That is still a great deal of information."

"I know."

I look across the repaired solarium. Every jar on these shelves entered through someone's hands. Every patient will carry an opinion of my work into another corridor. Trust gathers slowly, measured in doses that ease pain and bargains both parties honor.

Demons build power from titles, bloodlines, and fear.

I am building mine from usefulness.