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“This morning. Morwen’thir patrol came before dawn.”

The stronghold remains visible beyond his shoulder.

“They know the harvest failed,” I say.

“They know. They don’t care.”

“We don’t know what Lord Morwen’thir knows personally.”

Bran gives me an incredulous look. “His name is on the notice.”

“His seal is on it.”

“Is that meant to warm me?”

“No.”

“His collectors took dry tiphe from our emergency stores. His overseers measure grain while children watch their supper disappear. Now he wants the scraps.”

Anger gives strength to Bran’s voice, but it also triggers another coughing fit. I guide him toward the clinic step. He refuses to sit and braces one hand against the wall until the spasm passes.

“You should be inside,” I tell him.

“So should everyone. We’d need fuel for that.”

I fold the notice along its existing crease.

“The lord’s coin is likely the only warmth Lowtown will receive from him this winter,” Bran says. “Assuming anyone has enough left to hold one.”

He nods toward the daler hidden in his pocket.

I do not tell him I understand his anger. He already knows. I also understand what happens when human anger reaches dark elf ears. A patrol can break bones without explanation. A house official can claim a worker’s labor for an unpaid levy. Humans occupy the lowest place in an order built to keep every other caste above us.

Righteousness does not stop a blade.

“Go home,” I say. “Drink the remedy. Stay near the fire.”

“You’ve seen my fire.”

“Then stay near your wife. She’s warmer.”

“That woman will kill me if she learns how long I’ve been coughing.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Bran leaves with the cart rattling behind him.

I carry the notice inside and place it beside my ledger. The page beneath it lists the clinic’s remaining supplies.

Twenty-three full portions of rirzed.

Nine fever treatments.

Six vials for infected wounds.

Enough clean linen for perhaps twelve dressings.

The figures become worse when I account for the people already ill. Bran will need another dose if his fever does not break. Neris requires daily treatment for her joints. Two infants on the southern lane have begun coughing. The miners return in three days, and someone always comes back injured.