Chapter 8 · Ash Doesn't Pick Sides

The witness was already talking when they shoved Rowan into the defendant's box.

Wantang's stomach dropped. Two days. That's all they'd had. Two days to flip a case that Sephra had spent weeks building, and now some square-jawed footman in royal livery stood in the testimony circle, hand over his heart, swearing he'd seen her hand the poison box to the palace courier.

"I was there," the footman said. His voice didn't waver. "Third of Ember-month. Just past noon. I saw Lady Eveline Vey give the carved box to Courier Thane at the Vey manor gate."

The Ash Court was smaller than Wantang expected. No cathedral ceiling. No marble columns. Just a круглый stone room with a shallow basin in the center, full of gray powder that looked like cremation ash. The air smelled like burnt paper. Sephra Morn stood to the left of the basin, hands folded, expression serene. She didn't even glance at Rowan.

Rowan's jaw was tight. His hands gripped the edge of the defendant's box. He hadn't looked at Wantang since they'd dragged him in.

Wantang stood in the petitioner's corner. Technically she was here as a witness.