For the first time all night, the Council did not know what to do next.
47
The Tower named me fourth.
I would have preferred not to take that personally.
My shoulder took it very much that way.
The Mark that was slowly killing me had lit through my coat when Astra bonded Ashford, which was embarrassing enough, and then the Tower had gone and said my name in front of every person in the hall with ears.
Now the pain sat high and bright under the bone, glowing at the edges, as if my body had decided subtlety was for men with better prospects than a boy who had been dying since he was born.
Across the hall, Astra stood with Ashford at the basin.
Bonded.
Still alive.
And furious.
I was very pleased about two of those things and trying to be civilized about the other.
The black water in Juno’s witness basin faded back to silver. No severance before review. That was what the Tower had said.
There were several ways to hear that.
The cheerful interpretation was that the Tower had prevented Quill from cutting the open lines immediately.
The less cheerful interpretation was that the Tower wanted all the pieces intact when they arrived.
I have always disliked games where I am one of the pieces.
Quill lowered his hand.
“The named Marks will be removed under witness.”
Ah.
The part where the room stopped pretending we were guests and decided we were prisoners.
The students nearest the doors moved back before anyone told them to. Fear teaches manners quickly.
Council stewards came from the side aisles in dark formal coats with no house marks on the cuffs. Not guards. Guards were honest. These were the sort of men a Council called stewards because steward sounded better than thug.
One came toward me.
I smiled at him and he slowed.
I had very few pleasures left. Making large men reconsider their first plan remained reliable.
“Marsh,” he said.
“Unfortunately.”
“You will come with me.”
“Will I?”
