Hajin trailed Helen's litter through the council doors, and the waiting petitioners pounced on them before the hinges stopped swinging. Bearers twisted between folders and retainers while his splinted shoulder throbbed inside the sling, voting loudly for the nearest inn.
'Great, a hallway full of vultures, and every one of them dressed better than the corpse.'
Seret stepped into the first approach, his working hand resting just above the new sword's belt.
Rowan shoved a foundry charter past the litter's front, forcing a bearer to swerve clear of his mantle, "My foundries need first claim on the auxiliary carapaces, Captain, the northern battlements face drakes every winter, and that material could keep those approaches standing for years, so I would rather settle it here than lose it to a slower hand."
The northern duke flicked a glance at Hajin's empty palm, then at the journal where the core's entry stayed sealed.
