How will he manage if he cannot take blood from me? Will he grow weaker?
The more I think about it, the closer I come to despair. With Lis gone, there is no one I can turn to, is there?
Think, Moe, think.
What else can be done?
The answer comes to me after hours of walking on foot, when I finally return to Nyk’s house at the edge of Sartoriya. I rush to the library, gather every book on law I can find, and begin tearing through them.
That male, Baine, said Nyk would stand trial for his offense, and that the Lord Supreme is personally invested in the case.
In a way, that is better. His family should not be able to interfere too much—or do things clandestinely just to hurt him.
And if this is an official trial, he will be allowed to defend himself.
I skim every legal volume in Nyk’s library, and though there is little on the legality of cultivation or the registry, I do find something that might help.
One book on family law states that when a spouse has been accused of a crime and incarcerated, the other spouse automatically gains control over everything—not just the finances, but power of attorney as well.
Anticipation builds inside me. The issue is proving we are spouses when we never had a legally binding ceremony…
I keep reading.
The book states that most marriages are recognized only if filed with the Central Government. However…
My heart stills in my chest.
There is a footnote. Small script, barely perceptible.
It says that in ancient times, the custom was for spouses to share blood and consummate their union before the marriage was considered valid. Therefore, in a legal context, so long as both parties vow to the Seven that they fulfilled those two conditions, their marriage is recognized.
Could it be…?
I swallow hard. If I have power of attorney, then I can find someone to represent him legally at trial.
Yes. I can actually help him.
But just as excitement surges through me, reality crashes down again. To hire an attorney, I need money. A lot of money.
I still have some left in my room, but I do not know if it will be enough.
Closing my eyes, I massage my temples.
Ways of making money… ways of making money…
No job would pay me enough except…
My eyes snap open and land on the small bag I have been carrying with me all along.
The notebooks.
An idea sparks. I glance at the clock and see it is only noon—the stores have not closed yet.
Carefully selecting only the relevant notebooks, I bathe and make myself presentable before heading to the Mortal District.
To my luck, the one tending the counter is none other than Grigo, the owner of the bookshop. He is a kind older male in his sixties who deals in every sort of book, from antiques to fresh new fiction. He knows the trends and chases them relentlessly.
His brows rise in surprise when he sees me.
