Chapter 71. The Weight of Quiet Rooms

Veilgrove wears judgment like a shawl. The Hall of Reflection was more crowded than I’d seen it—old wolves in clean clothes, young ones with old eyes, dignitaries who had never had to skin their own dinner looking at us like they were learning as fast as their pride would allow.

The Thirteen sat like thirteen versions of patience; only two were truly good at it. Syra peeled off to take her place behind the Marshal’s rail. Neris found a shadow that had been waiting for her. Orla’s hands were empty—on purpose. Kael stood at my shoulder. The Crescent over his sternum peeked from his shirt like a secret we had decided wasn’t one.

“Thessia of Shadowfang,” the Starlit Elder intoned. “You return from the east with more than you left with.”

“Yes,” I said.

“You carry an artifact of the Moon the Court did not sanction.”

“Yes.”

“You opened it on land beyond our writ.”

“Yes.”

“You did so to cut a Vesper ward out of a field and to keep children fro