Chapter 42. The Blood Owed

Kael’s shoulder smelled like burned river stone. Mavienne had opened the cut, bled it, packed it with bitter leaves that made my tongue ache just from the scent, then wrapped it in linen inscribed with a spiral that discouraged poisons from getting ideas about permanence. He’d lost color down to the mouth.

“I told you I’m fine,” he said, as if the bruise crawling from clavicle to throat wasn’t mapping out a story I refused to read as comedy.

“Lie,” I said softly.

The brand pricked, not hot—irritated. He tried to smile, failed, reached and then thought better of touching me.

“Trial of Debt is at dusk,” Mavienne said, rinsing her hands in the moon-basin. The water went flat as a held breath. “He stands on the rim. Not inside the circle.”

“I can stand inside,” Kael muttered.

“You can,” Mavienne agreed. “And you can fall inside, too. The circle keeps its dead.”

Leaf thumped his tail exactly once: agreement made canine.

Syra appeared at the