Ysra counted the ballot, and then she counted it again with her finger on the table, because a Split vote had to be counted by the Hands who had voted, and not by the ones who had not. That was the rule of the Charter. It was a plain rule, and Tallow had read it aloud at the Turn that morning in his dry voice, and Ysra had written it on the inside of her slate in letters a finger high, so that nobody could say afterwards she had forgotten it.
The Great Hall was full. The candles were lit on either side of the Regent’s chair, and the long table had been cleared of everything except the minute-book, the Register’s box, and the Ballot itself, which was a single sheet of the Hold’s own paper with the clause written out in Tallow’s clean capitals. Each Hand had a small wooden tally beside its place: a white tally for yes, and a black one for refusal. The white ones were stacked in front of Harrow, Tallow, Pell, Korrin, Ysra, Sella and Lune. The black ones lay in front of Gaunt and Mourner, at the far end of the table, where nobody had moved them.
