The bell came from the lodging gate. It was a plain iron hand bell with a cracked clapper, and the guard who carried it had been told to ring it hard and not to smile.
“Harder,” said Calen.
The guard rang it harder. The sound went off the stable wall and came back twice, and a pigeon went up off the roof in a clatter of wings.
It was Day eighty-three, and the yard had been swept for the third time that week. Calen had chosen the place himself. The lodging wall ran straight and high on the north side, with no windows above the ledge, and the stone held the cold until well past noon. It was a good place for a thing that would not be comfortable.
The first lesson had been at dawn on Day seventy-three, with six counts and a candle that leaned. The second had been on Day seventy-nine, with a correction at the ribs and seven counts. This was the last of the three, and the Restraint Mark was set for Day eighty-seven if she held.
The candle was set on the ledge. It was the same tallow stub from the first two lessons, shorter now, with a dark bead of wax along one side.
