Chapter 24. Petitions and Knives

Petitions have teeth.

They don’t show them right away. They present themselves as polite stacks of ink and names, as the measured breath of a people who want something done and have agreed to ask for it instead of take it. But under the paper runs heat. Under the heat, a blade.

They brought the petition to the great hall at noon. Three elders carried it in its leather tube as if it were a holy relic. A clerk in pale robes announced it in a voice that did not waver because he had learned how not to shake while drowning.

“Petition for the Removal of Thessia of Shadowfang from the seat of Luna,” he read. “On the grounds of: one, unsanctioned bond; two, reckless alliance; three, omen of disorder.” He didn’t look at me. He looked at the ink.

Kael stood at my right. He didn’t move. Syra stood at my left. She also did not move. Ilyra sat on the edge of the dais, slate on her knees, chalk poised like a knife she meant to use when the pot boiled o