Chapter 53. Dawn Doesn’t Care

Dawn came hard and fast. The Hall of Scales wore morning like a bruise wears a sleeve—covering, not healing. The air had the clean-cold taste of water that hasn’t yet decided whether it’s friend or flood.

“Mercy,” Orla said in the vestibule, passing me a mug that smelled like cinnamon argued into tea. “Not pity. Not absolution. Not that awful thing where people cry and call it justice.”

“What is it then?” I asked, though I knew and she liked to hear me say it.

“Policy,” we said together.

Mavienne tied a fresh linen band on my wrist without comment. She had tucked rosemary into her own hair, the smallest defiance. Neris arrived with no paper at all, which meant she’d memorized what she would need and let the rest go. Syra posted a guard who knew how to blink on purpose.

Kael wore no sash, no crown, no armor he didn’t need. He had slept badly and still looked like a man who could split a winter with his shoulders. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The b