The iron door of Cell Four slammed shut with an echoing boom. But the air in the undercroft was no longer quiet.
Across the hall, Mira was leaning against the lead-sheathed bars of Cell Five. Her left hand grabbed the iron, her face flushed with excitement. Her smoky quartz arm caught the amber glow of the lantern, chiming with a rapid, steady beat that matched her racing heart.
“You should have seen Malvane’s face, Ren,” she whispered across the stones. “When that big court guard fell on his knees and started vomiting, the old judge looked like he’d swallowed an entire inkpot of sulfuric acid.”
Ren sat on his straw pallet, his hands trembling as he rubbed his aching forearms.
The ink-rot in his veins was pulsing with dull, throbbing heat. Activating the Moral Verdict Geas through Magistrate Ren had cost him dearly. Sustaining the summon during that five-minute cross-check had drawn upon his own physical stamina. That left his tiny blood vessels feeling raw and bruised.
“Voren was small game,” Ren said, his voice hoarse. “He was a paid footman. Malvane sacrificed him without blinking. The next witness will be Master Scribe Kaelen, and Kaelen doesn’t take fifty-sovereign bribes from alley notaries. He takes titles and estates directly from the High judge.”
