Marshal Solvan Krail stepped back to his polished ash table, resting his broad knuckles on the dark wood. He watched Kezra Venn pick up the signed duplicate of her check notice. His expression was that of a man who considered a difficult opening gambit successfully navigated.
“There, Mistress Venn,” Krail said. His tone carried the smooth, cultured deep ring of an aristocrat who had governed provinces before he led armies. “The two basin carriers are already walking down the ramp with fresh bread in their sacks. The grain wagons are being unloaded in your communal sheds. And your check notice is signed with my own seal. I believe you’ll find that the Cairn Host is an honorable partner when met with skilled dignity.”
Kezra carefully folded the signed duplicate, slipping it into the inner leather pocket of her coat alongside her unsealed survey notebook. She looked Krail straight in the eye, her stance straight and unbending.
“I thank you for releasing Marn Vance and Tella Corve, Marshal Krail,” Kezra said, her voice clear, calm, and measured. “I don’t thank you for detaining them in the first place.”
A heavy quiet fell across the solar. Beside the western window, Master Ulvan Dret pulled his velvet cuffs up over his wrists, glancing nervously between the commander and the young map maker. Captain Hest Vale, standing by the iron-banded door, shifted her hand on her sword belt, her jaw hardening at the open rebuke.
