The leather cylinder containing the Western injunction sat on the center of the mahogany desk like an unexploded shell. Chancellor Sterling and his entourage had retreated to their diplomatic compound at the edge of the harbor, but the chill they left behind remained embedded in the stone walls of the palace council chamber.
Elara stood by the high hearth, her boots clicking softly as she shifted her weight. Her tablet was propped against a stack of leather-bound case files, its screen displaying a dense web of ancient civil codes cross-referenced with modern maritime statutes. Her eyes were bloodshot, the lack of sleep catching up to her in a dull, throbbing ache behind her temples, but her mind remained cold and clinical.
