Chapter 110. The Compact

The Compact signing took two days because we slept for one between. The Bridge Code went into the record; the treaty at Three Rivers became something with a seal and a snarl-proof knot. Dusk Spire signed with a thumbprint that looked like it had broken men before breaking ink. Vesper sealed with iron and a look like a dare. Shadowfang wrote our names neat because neat was new, and I wanted to savor it.

We built the Bridge Council on a square of floor no one owns—the north-south market where fishermen swear at sunburn and seamstresses curse needles. We dragged four chairs into the dust and left two empty in case somebody brave came who didn’t have a chair yet. Elen sat on the steps like a cat, pretending the meeting had been her idea.

First case: a border well. A woman with cracked hands and a man with cracked pride had been trading theft and apologies for months. We walked the Bridge rule right there in front of them: speak truth, pay cost, eat together. They did. He gav