Chapter 14. The Procession of Thorns

The writ felt heavier by morning, as if the moonlight I’d fed it the night before had settled in the vellum and refused to leave. The new line gleamed when I tilted it toward the window’s pale light—so faint it might have been a flaw in the skin if I didn’t already know better.

Ask for the Night Ledger. Entry 317.

Do not trust the Full Moon.

The ink was the color of breath in winter. No mark claimed it. That made it more honest than most signatures I’d seen.

On the parapet below, the Moon Court captain walked his line of horses again, palm lingering at each flank for a heartbeat. Ritual, or apology. The oath-thread cool against my wrist reminded me to separate the two. Ritual comforts. Apologies try to alter the past.

Kael knocked once and came in without waiting. He’d tied his hair back, the way he did when his hands wanted a fight and he was starving them of it. Tarren’s petition rested in his fist, crumpled around the edges.

“Ride