Chapter 12 · The Torn Warrant

"Don't."

I froze halfway off the crate. Lyra had one hand pressed to Pip's chest, her fingers splayed over matted fur and mud. The cub's antlers pulsed weak blue light. Its breathing came fast and shallow.

"I need to check the west anchor," I said.

"You need to stay alive long enough to check anything."

"Bold engineering requirement."

She glanced back. Hair stuck to her cheek. Blood on her lip. A fresh cut along her jaw. She looked ready to collapse and ready to stab me for noticing.

I grinned. "You're starting to sound like me."

"I'm starting to recognize when you're about to do something suicidal."

"Training's working, then."

Her mouth twitched. Didn't make it to a smile. Her gaze slid to the black spike on the greenhouse table.

It hadn't moved since Pip dragged it from the storm.

The thing was the length of my forearm. Jagged at one end, smooth at the other. Surface ate the lantern light. A crown had been carved into the metal—but wrong. No jewels. No maker's mark. Just a hollow shape pressed into darkness.

A blank seal.

I'd seen it before. Execution chamber. Burned into the parchment that named me traitor.