With Davren’s role settled, Adra Pike unrolled a sheepskin roster of the basin’s workforce across the scarred table in the western tool house. Her blunt, chalk-stained forefinger moved down the columns of names, pausing at the miners who worked the upper galleries.
“We need two people who know the geography of Stonewake without being marked as troublemakers on Krail’s black books,” Adra said. She looked up at Kezra and Yseld. “They must be strong enough to haul forty pounds of measuring gear and spare chains up that steep rubble ramp, and level-headed enough to keep their mouths shut when a Host corporal curses at them.”
“And they must have the explicit right of retreat,” Kezra insisted. Her voice carried the firm ethical boundary she had kept since the check cross in Kilnstep. “They’re not soldiers under military orders, Adra. If the situation inside the castle deteriorates—if Krail attempts to seize our notebooks. Or if Hest closes the inner sally ports—our carriers must have full permission to drop their packs and walk out the gate without being accused of backstabbing.”
Adra nodded approvingly. “A person who’s forced to stay against their judgment is a debt to everyone around them. I have two in mind who understand both the stone and the risk.”
