In the red, wavering heat of the iron charcoal fire bowl, Seyun kept his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, listening past Osen Tal’s quiet voice to the sounds of the residence wing outside. Through the heavy cedar door behind them, he could hear the steady, reassuring pace of the watch corporal’s iron-shod boots on the gallery planks. Yet along the inner stonework wall behind Osen’s tall bookcases—the wall that backed against the old dry-water tank check shaft of the eastern spur—the stone felt colder and stiller than it should have.
“If an Aperture Court calm distance is climbing the mountain road before the spring compact date, they’re coming because your summary scrolls failed to bury the Ash Reed hearing,” Seyun said. He kept his eyes on Osen’s hands. “Tell me one thing before you make whatever offer is sitting on that table, Steward. Two weeks ago at Ash Reed, when Elder Hesh and Senior Elder Tor Ves borrowed that young fire spirit from the Oran storehouse with its fourth holding needle already pulled—was that merely Tor Ves buying a fraudulent Bronze rank for his nephew Joren, or did the order come from your clerk hall?”
Osen Tal looked across the glowing coals at Seyun’s gauze-wrapped palms. For a long moment, the tired steward studied the young man he had tried to dismiss as a clerical footnote at the mountain gate.
