She also bled.
Then Serast looked down at the next page.
“Lady Sabine Corvyr.”
Sabine stepped onto the witness floor.
Every eye in the chamber settled on her.
The stone beneath her shoes felt cold even through the soles. The witness floor had been polished by generations of women standing exactly where she stood now, each one asked to pretend exposure was dignity if enough people watched.
The clerk began.
“Lady Sabine Corvyr. Daughter of House Corvyr of the southern border marches. Entered the Trials under crown debt and succession pressure. Eligible by maternal and paternal bloodline. Current house position declining.”
He turned the page.
The ledger made ruin sound orderly.
Crown debt totaling more than the estate could clear in three generations. Parcel losses. East wing closure due to disrepair. Tenant arrears. Crown relief accepted twice. Deferred wages. Collateral sales. The orchard failures. Cassian named as sole male heir, seventeen years of age and not yet settled into full authority.
Seventeen.
As if Cassian were a number on a succession chart and not the boy who used to fall asleep in the nursery chair with a book open on his chest because he was determined to wait up for her.
Sabine locked her knees.
The clerk continued.
The grain-weight rumor came next.
That her father had once manipulated grain counts during famine to preserve estate stores. That tenant families had received short measures while House Corvyr maintained private reserves. That the investigation had ended without conclusion after Lord Corvyr’s death and the loss of key documents in an archive fire.
The words crossed the chamber in a calm official voice.
Sabine heard her father’s name become an accusation and did not move.
Then the clerk reached the final entry.
“House Corvyr is subject to protective administrative review. In the event that Lady Sabine Corvyr is disqualified, dismissed, or withdrawn from the sacred Trials before final selection, the estate’s outstanding debt obligations may be transferred to protective administrative custody pending resolution of succession viability.”
The room changed.
Not loudly.
A shift of silk. A softened intake of breath. A whisper high in the left gallery.
The court had just been told where to press.
Serast leaned forward.
“Lady Sabine,” he said, “does this pressure compromise your devotion to the rite. Are you here for sacred union or self-preservation.”
Sabine met his eyes.
“Every house in this chamber brought self-interest through the door,” she said clearly. “Mine has merely been written down honestly.”
The room reacted.
