Chapter 13 · The Three-Day Death Writ

"Three days." The envoy dropped the scroll on the stone table like it was a body bag. "His Majesty's mercy."

I didn't touch it. Didn't need to. The imperial seal glared red even from where I stood, still smelling like smoke and adrenaline from last night's fire. My scrubs—well, the cotton tunic they'd given me—were still streaked with soot.

"Mercy," I repeated. My voice came out flat. "That what we're calling it?"

The envoy's mouth twitched. He was young, maybe mid-twenties, with the kind of perfect posture that screamed capital elite. His robes probably cost more than my student loans. "The Emperor is... lenient. You will present yourself at the Bureau of Rites in three days to stand trial for heresy and unlawful practice of medicine. If you surrender willingly, your death will be swift."

"Swift." I looked at Huo Yanzhan, who stood by the narrow window with his back to both of us. His shoulders were a solid line of tension under that dark armor. He hadn't said a word since the envoy walked in. "You hear that? Swift. Like I should be grateful they'll use a sharp blade."

"General Huo." The envoy's tone went brittle.