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I wait until the last black-armored soldier passes beyond the chamber doors.

“Joran.”

He faces me at once.

The authority I am about to use feels heavier than any basket I carried through Lowtown. I have ordered servants, challenged Sarveth, and altered the labor of this keep through argument and evidence. This is different. Rhysandir lies unable to command. Every person inside Morwen’thir is looking toward the space his voice should fill.

“Escort the outside force beyond the inner keep,” I say. “Remove every royal soldier from the private passages. Then seal the gates after them.”

Joran places his fist over his heart.

“At once, Lady Morwen’thir.”

No challenge. No demand that I prove myself again. He turns and carries my command into the corridor.

“Captain,” he calls, “the Lady has invoked house closure. Your soldiers will proceed to the outer ward.”

Orders travel away from us. Boots strike stone. Morwen’thir guards answer from the stairs. Somewhere below, a bell sounds twice, pauses, then sounds a third time.

The keep responds.

I close the chamber doors, leaving one unlatched for Briar, and hurry back to the chaise.

Rhysandir’s pulse has weakened. His breathing is shallower than it was during the confrontation. The strain of sending me the legal image has cost him.

“You impossible man,” I whisper. “You spent strength on a law lesson while your lungs are failing.”

His eyes hold mine.

A tremor passes through the floor. Far beneath us, the immense inner gates begin to close. Iron grinds across stone. Chains strain through ancient housings. The sound rolls upward through Morwen’thir like mountain thunder.

Joran has obeyed me.

The King’s Guard is outside the inner keep. Varrus has lost immediate access to Rhysandir. The Arbiter’s Clause protects the house until an examiner arrives or Rhysandir can speak.

It may give us hours.

It may give us less.

I touch Rhysandir’s cold cheek and search his face for another fragment of guidance. “The law bought time. I need you to help me use it.”

Behind the walls, the gates settle into their locks.

For this narrow span, Morwen’thir answers to me.

But command cannot draw poison from his blood.

I bend over my husband, count the fragile rhythm of his breaths, and turn every part of my mind toward saving him.

26

RHYSANDIR

The gates close beneath me.

I cannot hear every chain or locking bar from my chambers, but Morwen’thir carries the movement through its stone. The chaise trembles beneath my motionless body. Ancient iron settles into place, sealing the inner keep against Varrus and the King’s Guard.

Fiona commands my house.