Page 25
His shoulders lift with a slow inhale. His jaw flexes. The ember flicker beneath his skin gutters without vanishing, pulled back by will rather than absence. He does not look away from me until his hands are open at his sides.
“Fine,” he says, voice rough. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
“No, but I’m behaving.”
“Continue.”
His mouth twitches despite the strain. “Bossy.”
“Observant.”
Behind me, Talen laughs. “Well, isn’t that sweet? The ledger girl found herself a trained cur.”
The courtyard seems to thin around the words.
Corin’s gaze moves past my shoulder, and the hunger rises again, faster this time. I turn before it can crest.
“Talen,” I say, allowing my voice to cool. “Lord Vaerith sent me to correct a registry discrepancy connected to the west holdings. You are now interrupting contract business.”
His expression falters slightly. “I’m ensuring estate security.”
“No. You are creating a public disturbance within earshot of clerks who enjoy repeating things inaccurately.”
His eyes shift toward the registry awning, where one dark elf clerk has indeed stopped pretending not to listen.
I continue, precise and quiet. “If Lord Vaerith hears that his auxiliary guard delayed correction of a witness notation attached to leakage figures he specifically requested before supper, he will not ask whether your insult was clever. He will ask whether you were useful.”
Talen’s face reddens.
Corin murmurs behind me, “That was vicious.”
“Quiet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The guard hears enough to sneer, but uncertainty has already cracked his confidence. Men like Talen thrive on private intimidation and wilt under administrative consequence. He looks at the folio, then at my face, then at Corin with hatred sharpened by embarrassment.
“This isn’t finished,” he says.
“Most poorly managed conversations are not,” I reply.
His mouth tightens. For a moment, I think he might push his luck further. Then the dark elf clerk under the awning calls, “Auxiliary, are you handling that escort or flirting with disciplinary review?”
Talen’s pride does visible battle with his survival instinct.
Survival wins.
He steps back, pointing once at Corin. “Stay out of estate business.”
Corin gives him a pleasant smile that shows no teeth. “I’ll treasure the advice.”
Talen leaves, boots striking hard against the stones.
I wait until he is out of earshot before turning back.
Corin is breathing carefully through his nose, eyes lowered, both hands braced against the edge of the dry fountain. The stone beneath his fingers has darkened, not cracked, but warmed enough that dampness steams faintly where his palms rest.
