Chapter 15 · Trial in the Storm

"Rowan."

Lyra stood in the greenhouse doorway, lit from behind by the blue-white glow outside. Her hair had come loose. One sleeve was torn at the shoulder. In her right hand, a brass spyglass. In her left, the broken royal investigator's badge he'd accepted only hours ago.

Rowan pushed himself upright. Pain answered, hot and deep beneath his ribs. His bandages had soaked through again.

"How many?" he asked.

Lyra lowered the spyglass. "Six royal cutters. Two chain-barges. A command vessel with Crown colors."

"Just six?"

"Six is enough when they're carrying chain lances."

Another cannon boomed. The floor groaned beneath them.

Rowan swung his legs over the cot. Every movement pulled at the wound, but he forced himself up. Outside, the farm drifted above the basin like a battered ship. Its outer terraces were patched with timber and salvaged hull plates. Wind turbines turned along the western rim, vanes creaking as clouds boiled below.

Far beyond them, in the pre-dawn gloom, royal vessels emerged one by one from the fog.

Black lacquer hulls. White iron. Crown sigils burning gold along their sides. Chain lances protruding from the bow decks, each one thick enough to punch through a watchtower.