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Miana arrives first with a laundry basket balanced against her hip. Jory follows carrying two empty medicine crates and enough fear for both of them. The Crown guards inspect the basket, find folded linens, and wave them through.

Miana closes the door.

"Grolm said Draxon challenged the edict," she says.

"He did."

Jory sets down the crates. "Can he win?"

"Not with the argument the court expects."

I clear the central table. Drying trays move to the lower shelf. Medicine orders go into one crate. On a sheet of waxed paper, I begin writing names.

The first group contains minor lords who supported Korgath at the hearing. The lord of the western vents. The lady whose house controls two lower bridges. Three Volvath who stood beside Korgath on the promenade and praised his legal accusation.

The second group contains merchants.

The bronze-scaled Trolvor from the neutral market. A Soz'garoth crystal broker. Two off-world traders who use Ti'lith's eastern receiving platforms. A dark elf quartermaster known to keep duplicate delivery tallies.

The third list is shorter and more dangerous.

Korgath's head laundress. A Zonak who repairs the heating channels in his minor spire. His blind-eye physician. Two human kitchen servants who purchase burn salve through Miana's network. A dark elf messenger responsible for sealed household deliveries.

Jory reads over my shoulder. "What are we asking them?"

"Questions that produce witnesses and records."

I point to the lords.

"Which of these houses owed Korgath before the hearing? Which debts vanished? Which received new weapons, land promises, or sealed payments?"

My finger moves to the merchants.

"What has Korgath purchased on credit? Which off-world goods entered his stores without appearing in public trade records? Who moved those goods, and whose house marks covered the loads?"

Then the household names.

"What did his servants carry? Which visitors came after dark? Which creditors were admitted through service entrances? We need dates, witnesses, copied marks, or ledger scraps. Rumor alone will not survive the Council."

Miana studies the three groups. Her pale blue eyes move quickly while the golden wire turns between her fingers.

"This reaches beyond the laundry routes," she says.

"How far can you reach?"

"Farther than Korgath believes. Not far enough by midday without payment."

I open the locked box beneath the counter.

The Council inventory servant counted my medicines but ignored the small inner compartment because Grolm stood between him and the key. Inside are my earnings from the apothecary, stacked by value. Jetons from human workers. Daler from guards. Two ducats paid by a noble household for a vespid remedy. Coin saved before the Council assigned me to Draxon rests in a leather roll beneath them.

It is every piece of currency I control.

I pour it onto the table.

"Spend what opens doors," I say.

Miana separates the coins into small piles. "Some will want more than money."