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“Sir.” The man steps forward, slate clutched to his chest. “Forgive me. We do need to complete the ceremony before the rings. If we’re to finish within the minute you specified, we should begin.”

Asher doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Then get the fuck on with it. Jade. Give me your hand.”

Nobody uses my name here. Nobody in this room except the man in front of me knows it’s mine, and he’s the one who says it. Something in my chest turns over like a bad engine.

That wasn’t a request, Candidate.

I want to laugh. I want to spit. I want to walk out of this room and take my brother with me, back to a flat with a broken latch and two chairs that don’t match, where the water comes on for two hours a day and nobody can afford to buy anyone.

I put my hand in his, and his fingers close over mine before he turns us toward the man in gray.

The man glances at the slate. “Asher Clement, third of that name, House Clement, of Tempest.”

“Yes.”

“And you attend freely, sir, under no⁠—”

“Yes. Now, get the fuck on with it.”

“Jade Mercer.” The registrar looks up at me for the first time, and there’s nothing unkind in his face, which somehow makes it worse. “Of Calder.”

“Clement,” Asher says.

The registrar’s stylus stops. “Sir, the record takes the name at attendance⁠—”

“Take it at departure.”

“Sir.” And to me, “You attend freely?”

I take a breath, and it’s as if I can hear it inside my skull. It feels like Onyx is four miles behind me, in that chair by the window. I don’t turn around. I don’t want to see him watching me. His earlier smile said it all.

“Yes.”

“Notification of the head of House?”

“Waived,” Asher barks. “Come on.”

The registrar’s eyes lift off the slate. “Sir, the head of House is customarily⁠—”

“I said waived.”

Something goes through the room. Seren holds still. Ryven, crouched beside my brother’s chair, lifts his head.

Waived.

“Noted.” The registrar taps it. “Rings, if you have them.”

Asher reaches for the table, takes my hand, and slides one of the bands onto my finger, turning it with his thumb until it lies flat under the light. “There.”

The registrar looks at my hand, then at Asher’s bare one, and waits.

Asher picks up the other ring off the table and puts it on himself.

“Then, by the register of Tempest and under the seal of the House, it is recorded.” The registrar is already scrolling. “Sir, congratulations. If you’ll authorize the⁠—”

“We’ll do it later.”

“There is a copy that must be⁠—”