Thalen speaks first. "These documents were obtained through an unauthorized search."
"The property is in my region," I say. "I have jurisdiction in the case of illegal activity. The search is clean."
"The chain of custody?—"
"Is documented and witnessed." I give him a pointed look. "I know what you're about to do. I'm telling you it won't work this time."
"What I'm about to do," he says, "is protect the council's integrity from a lord who has demonstrably allowed personal attachment to drive him." He looks around the room. "These documents implicate sitting council members. The political damage alone?—"
"The political damage is theirs." I don't raise my voice. "They took money to ignore weapons trafficking that armed rebels and killed dark elf soldiers. The damage belongs to the action, not the exposure." I sweep my arm over the room. "The woman currently sitting in Oxwood prison was framed by a magistrate who needed a visible criminal to protect his income. She forged blades to pay for her brother's medicine. That's the full extent of her rebellion."
Fenrath stares at the table. Caevar is very still.
Thalen tries once more. "Your career survives this only if you step back. The child alone?—"
"Is mine." I gather the documents and hand them to Cyran. "File these with the oversight council's receiving office tonight. All of them." I look at Thalen. "We're done here."
I walk out, and this time I don't check whether anyone follows.
29
EDRIA
Ihear the argument at the far end — low, firm, Nyrius's voice not raised but carrying the authority that doesn't need volume. Coins change hands. Then footsteps, and the soft scrape of a key, and my cell door swings open. It’s been a few days since they stopped interrogating me, and I’m not expecting anyone.
He steps inside and pulls the door nearly closed behind him. The block lamp is low, throwing just enough light to see by. He doesn’t pull his eyes away without speaking — taking inventory again, the way he always does, checking what the days have cost.
"You look tired," I say.
"I haven't slept." He crosses to me and sits on the shelf, close enough that our knees are nearly touching. "How are you feeling?"
"Scared." I say it without dressing it up. There's no point, the night before sentencing, in pretending otherwise. "I've been telling myself I'm not, but I am."
He puts his hand over mine. "Everything goes in front of the oversight council tomorrow before the sentencing begins."
"You saidbefore." I point at him. "Not instead of."
"It's going to be close." He runs his fingers over my knuckles. "I won't lie to you about that."
I look down at our hands. His thumb settles in the wedding between my thumb and forefinger, careful as he always is about the places that hurt.
"I keep thinking about the child," I say quietly. "Whether they'll be okay. Whether any of this—" I stop.
He reaches over and places his palm flat against my stomach, gentle and soothing. He leaves it there.
"They'll be fine," he says. "You'll both be fine. I am going to stand in that court tomorrow and I am not leaving until this is done." His voice is steady, no performance in it. "You are going to meet this child. I am going to be there when you do."
My throat closes.
I've been holding it together for days — through the interrogations, the crowd noise, the rumors, Finn's face at the bars, counting ceiling stones in the dark. I've been holding it together because falling apart in here costs too much and there's no one to pick up the pieces.
The wall comes down all at once.
"I love you." It comes out rougher than I intended, not the quiet confession I'd imagined but something urgent, almost desperate. "I need you to know that. In case tomorrow goes wrong. In case I don't get another chance to say it clearly." I tilt my head to look at his face. "I love you."
He cups my face in both hands.
"Nothing is going to go wrong," he says. "But I hear you. And you deserve to hear it back." He presses his forehead to mine. "I love you. I have for a while now, and I intend to keep saying it after tomorrow and for a long time past that."
