Chapter 33. Law Day

They didn’t want the truth. They wanted my “no.”

The Hall of Ordinances was colder than the Spiral—colder even than the blood basin. Law likes to imagine itself a season that never ends. Benches arced toward the dais in neat, merciless rows. Pillars shouldered the ceiling like men accustomed to weight. Someone had scrubbed the floor until it reflected the masks of the Conclave in a pale, watery way, as if even stone didn’t trust what it was being asked to witness.

Rellan stood already, hands folded as if prayer could be litigated. Elder Mara presided with a slate and a face that believed in time more than in people. The First Luna watched from the crescent’s center without a mask. She didn’t need one. Masks, like crowns, are sometimes for the shaky.

“Petition,” Rellan said, voice smooth as a blade that has never been used on anything living. “Abjuration of Claim. For the record: Thessia of Shadowfang is called to renounce any claim to the Luna of Shadowfang and to