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The royal representative rises.

“The monarchy submits the King’s Guard record,” he says. “Lord Varrus requested a royal patrol for the Causadurn pass before Lord Morwen’thir was wounded. He instructed its captain to wait outside Morwen’thir’s ward for a report of disorder.”

The captain stands beside him. “The report arrived forty-two breaths after Lord Morwen’thir entered his chambers for treatment. Lord Varrus ordered immediate entry and named Lady Morwen’thir as the suspected assassin before any guard had seen the chamber.”

The exact window matters. My wound was chance. Varrus’s force was prepared to exploit the first occasion on which Fiona used the contaminated herbs.

The royal representative faces the council. “Lord Varrus exceeded the authority granted for a pass inspection. He manipulated the King’s Guard into entering a protected inner keep and concealed his personal interest in the arrest. The monarchy repudiates that use of royal command.”

He unrolls the original order. “The king authorized observation of the pass and aid upon a lawful request from House Morwen’thir. The order granted no authority to seize the house seal, remove its Lady from an inner chamber, or transfer control of the stronghold. Lord Varrus gave those instructions in the monarchy’s name without sanction.”

The captain bows his head. “When Lady Morwen’thir invoked the Arbiter’s Clause, Lord Varrus ordered me to disregard it. I withdrew because the clause was valid and because obedience would have placed my soldiers in violation of royal law.”

Varrus’s composure fractures. Crimson-black chaos moves around his chained hand.

“This is Morwen’thir theater,” he says. “His guards found what he required. His human bride prepared the poison. A frightened trader repeats whatever protects her family, and a royal servant abandons authority to appease an ancient charter.”

“Do you deny funding the debt?” Theron asks.

“I deny ordering poison.”

“Do you deny your counterseal?”

“I deny control of every mark used by my ipia.”

“Do you deny naming Fiona before your guards entered?”

“I made the obvious conclusion.”

One elder closes the ledger. “Before the facts were visible.”

Another says, “With the merchant already funded.”

The council turns against him one voice at a time. Trade representatives condemn the manipulation of K’sheng debt. Miou captains condemn the misuse of royal patrols. Khuzuth elders who favored his duel challenge fall silent when asked to explain the timing.

Fiona does not look triumphant. Her attention remains on Nessa, whose hands are clasped so tightly that the knuckles have blanched. Judgment can destroy Varrus’s authority. It cannot return innocence to their friendship or remove the memory of poison beneath Fiona’s hands.

I want victory to restore what he damaged. Law offers no such mercy. It can only name the wrong, prevent his escape, and deny him the means to repeat it.

Theron calls for judgment.

Black stones signify guilt. White stones signify insufficient proof. Each seated elder places one into the Arbiter’s basin.

Black fills it.

Theron rises. “The Ridge council finds Lord Dravor Varrus guilty of conspiracy against House Morwen’thir, corruption of trade debt, misuse of royal force, and assault upon the Arbiter’s protected balance.”

Varrus strains against the chain. “You cannot strip a Khuzuth lord on the word of humans and servants.”

“We strip you upon ledgers, seals, physical poison, sworn witnesses, and your own timing,” Theron says.

The judgment is read beneath the house and royal seals. Varrus loses his title, his council voice, and every Ridge holding claimed through his ipia. His remaining southern property passes into royal custody pending separate judgment. He is sentenced to exile beyond Protheka’s northern boundary and confinement until the escort departs.

The royal guards close iron restraints around both wrists.

Varrus looks at me with naked hatred. “This ends nothing.”

“It ends your power to call violence governance.”