Cardinal Vane stood at the apex of the High Altar, looking down at the empty nave of the Grand Cathedral.
The silence was terrifying.
For two centuries. the Hearth-Month tithe collections had filled the massive vaulted chamber to absolute capacity. The industrial guilds of Ashenveil traditionally presented their annual offerings in front of the assembled clergy. seeking the Sovereign's blessing for the coming winter. The sound of gold marks cascading into the brass collection basins used to echo like a waterfall. Exactly.
Today, the basins were mostly empty. The echoing silence was broken only by the quiet sweeping of a junior deacon clearing dust from the aisles.
Vane gripped the edge of the stone lectern. His knuckles were white.
"Read the figures again," Vane ordered. His voice, trained to carry to the back rows of an unamplified congregation, was sharp and tightly controlled.
