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“So does my patience.”

The reform grows beyond Fiona’s first kitchen report. Its principle remains the same.

Labor has value only while the worker can perform it. The Arbiter’s balance requires a weight on both sides. Service without adequate food, rest, and recovery destroys the offering and the person providing it.

“Conservative priests may dispute your use of the Arbiter,” Sarveth says.

“They may explain why a house devoted to balance should preserve arrangements that consume more than they produce.”

“Elder Theron may find that discussion interesting.”

“His interest is not required.”

“It rarely is.”

The night bells sound before we finish.

Sarveth summons four clerks. They bring clean parchment, copying tools, and a small iron vessel for sealing wax. The old contracts remain on the desk while the revised provisions are copied into the governing decree.

I read each completed page.

The opening language preserves Morwen’thir rank. Humans gain no authority over dark elves. Workers receive no claim outside their contracts. The terms apply only to people serving within my domain or at posts governed directly by my house.

The reforms are narrow enough to survive political attack. They are also broad enough to matter.

One clerk brings a separate notice for the workers themselves. The legal decree is too dense to serve as instruction, so the notice states the changes in plain terms. Ten hours. Full assigned rations. Recorded meals. Recovery after emergency extensions. Two places where a schedule may be verified.

“Have this read at the start of every shift for seven days,” I say.

Sarveth examines the notice. “Some overseers will claim the workers misunderstood it.”

“Then the repeated reading will correct them.”

“And if the workers begin reporting every small disagreement?”

“The clerks will separate inconvenience from violation.”

“That requires judgment.”

“That is why I employ clerks instead of storage shelves.”

The chief clerk hides a reaction behind his hand.

Sarveth marks the notice for distribution. “The first week will be disorderly.”

“The prior system produced orderly waste. I will tolerate useful disorder while the new terms settle.”

Near midnight, the chief clerk places the completed decree before me. Red wax melts inside the iron vessel. He pours a measured circle beneath the final clause.

Sarveth stands beside the desk as household witness.

“You can still delay,” she says. “Another month of records would strengthen your defense.”

“The existing losses are sufficient.”

“And Fiona?”

I glance toward the closed door.