Chapter 44. What Tries to Kill a Promise

Morning brought three things: fog, gossip, and House Knife mothers. The fog could be burned off. The gossip couldn’t. he mothers came with three things: bread, knives, and anger. They stood at the Mercy Stair and stared at the sealed door of their guild like it owed them an apology. They weren’t wrong.

I stood with them. Not above. Not on the step with the chalk. Beside. The binding around my wrists had gone from ache to itch to a steady, intrusive awareness. Leaf lay across my boots and pretended to sleep while counting ankles.

“I named your house the enemy,” I said.

They didn’t flinch. Mothers practice not flinching the way saints practice not blinking.

“You named what our men did,” the oldest said. “And what our sons think they want. You didn’t name our kitchens.”

“Then open them,” I said. “Feed those who taught your boys to throw from above. Starve the ones who took your coin to teach them to aim.”

“Mercy?” a younger woman asked, sharp.