Chapter 55. After the Burn

The Hall emptied the way a battlefield does when it decides not to add more ghosts. People drifted out in singles and pairs, their eyes carefully not finding mine. Mercy, in public, is always unfashionable after the fact.

Kael tried to stand without the hand he didn’t need anymore. He made it halfway. I caught his elbow.

“I’m fine,” he said.

The brand warmed. Not fear—falsehood.

“You’re breathing better,” I said, “and you’re lying worse.”

A noise that wasn’t quite a laugh escaped him. Mavienne collected the stained linen in a lidded jar and labeled it with a neat, unsentimental anger, spent. She passed me a cup of hot leaf-water and a slice of bread sugared on one side.

“For your hinge,” she said. “Chew.”

I did. The first bite tasted like dust and victory. The second like relief.

From the gallery, the New Moon watched us with the patience of water wearing down stone. Mara had one hip against the balustrade, a soldier doing an im