Tallow read the Petition aloud at dawn, with the Great Hall’s shutters half open and the marsh fog lying in the yard like milk in a bowl. He had sat up all night with the fair copy, checking every figure against the Hearth and every name against the Chamber’s roll, and he had found three errors, all of them his own, and had corrected them in pencil so the Ink would not have to know.
The Hall was full. It was the fullest it had been since the Crossing. The Hands sat in their usual places, though some of them had been moved to make room: Harrow on the bench nearest the door, where he could see the yard; Korrin at the end of the second bench with his arms folded; Pell by the hearth, with flour still on her wrists; Sella beside the empty bench where Tamsin had sat, her bag at her feet. Gaunt sat alone at the back, in the shadow of the rafters, with his hands clasped on his knee and his face set like a stone that has been carved by a clumsy man. Velvet was not in her seat. She had asked to be left out of the Petition, and the Chamber had agreed, and her empty bench stood near the window with a shawl folded on it. Nobody moved the shawl. Ysra, on the stair, counted the names under her breath as Tallow read them, and when he reached the Smith’s protest she…
