Chapter 23. The Advocate

Advocates in Veilgrove wear their weapons where the Conclave can’t see them.

Some tuck knives into precedent. Some hide them in footnotes. The most dangerous keep them in their mouths and let you walk right up to the edge of the blade.

We found Lady Rhea in a winter garden drinking tea and not freezing to death out of pure contrariness. Her cloak was pale as fog. Her hair was the kind of blond people trusted until they learned better. She looked delighted to see us.

“Luna,” she said. “Alpha. Marshal.” She glanced at the pup. “Child.”

The pup yawned in her direction without respect and then curled around my boot.

“You sent a scribe to write my ending,” I said without sitting.

“I sent a scribe to make sure the ending that was coming anyway arrived on time,” she said, motioning us to the benches. “You’re welcome.”

Syra’s mouth ticked in a direction that wasn’t a smile. Kael remained standing, hands loose at his sides, like a man posing for a po