Two months ago, when Ilyra first rode down to the burial-road funerary shrine in her spotless White Heron cloak, Arel Fen’s offer would have sounded to her like the voice of reason itself. Back then, she had believed with all her heart that the great chartered houses of the valley were governed by laws stronger than any single elder’s greed. That if an honest student brought clean evidence to the proper table, the trial would correct its mistake and protect the weak.
She stood on the eastern neck of the snow bridge with the gorge roaring eighty feet below her boots. She catalogued every lesson that belief had cost since the day Seyun freed her spear from the shrine floor. In the reed marsh, civilian caravan driver Pel had bled to death in the mud. Meanwhile, Court custodian Halen cared only for the sealed fire-spirit crate.
In Oran, Steward Osen Tal had written out her guilty verdict and her punitive caravan assignment before her witnesses even entered the hearing room. And less than six hours ago at the Hollow Summit, after Chief Examiner Vaska Ren gave his word on a three-exchange courtyard test, Assistant Examiner Reth Mal had walked down the steps with an inner-council warrant and cancelled Vaska’s promise mid-bell.
