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“As do I.”

Nothing further must be signed or witnessed. Choice resides in the authority he placed beside his own and the hand I hold because I want it there.

My gaze moves to the labor records stacked beside the blue-flowered plant.

The ten-hour limit and full rations protect workers employed directly by Morwen’thir. They offer nothing to human laborers hired through smaller holdings, and they give servants no recognized voice when overseers ignore house law.

“I know which decree I will issue first,” I say.

Rhysandir follows my attention. “The labor records.”

“A Human Workers’ Guild under Morwen’thir protection. Representatives chosen by the workers. Written terms. Ration oversight. A formal path for grievances before eighteen-hour shifts and spoiled stores become a crisis.”

“Limit its first charter to workers under Morwen’thir authority,” he says. “Other holdings will call direct protection an attempt to seize their labor.”

“Then we prove it here first. If full rations and shorter shifts reduce waste, their own workers will know.”

“And their overseers will resent the comparison.”

“Useful evidence often produces resentment.”

I pull a blank sheet from beneath the records and begin marking the charter’s bones. Each kitchen, stable, storehouse, and maintenance crew will choose a speaker. The speakers will inspect shift tallies and ration measures with a house clerk present. Disputes will rise through the guild before exhaustion becomes injury or hidden spoilage becomes hunger.

“Bran understands the workers and the keep’s fuel needs,” I say. “I want him present when the first representatives gather.”

“Invite him under your authority. No guard will mistake him for a loiterer again.”

The promise is quiet, but it reaches from this solar to the courtyard and down the mountain road.

“Theron will despise it.”

“Theron has exhausted my concern for his comfort.”

Rhysandir’s black eyes warm with restrained amusement. “Bring me the charter before you seal it.”

“For approval?”

“For coordination. You possess authority to issue it.”

The distinction settles around me with the weight of the house ring I will one day carry.

I rise and take the labor records from his desk.

The council has recognized my voice. Morwen’thir’s forces will answer my command. The house seal will make my decrees enforceable.

Now I am prepared to use all three.

32

RHYSANDIR

The rising sun strikes the Causadurn Ridge and turns the snow to fire.

Gold touches the black towers of Morwen’thir Stronghold and spills across Vesper’s Peak. Far below the high terrace, Lowtown wakes beneath roofs reinforced against winter. Wagons move along the cleared road between the stronghold stores and the human settlement.

Grain fills Lowtown’s communal storehouse. Firewood stands beneath covered sheds. The clinic shelves hold rirzed, fylvek, clean bandages, dried roots, and enough common remedies to carry the settlement through the worst of the cold.

For the first time since I inherited this house, winter does not look like a weapon aimed at the people beneath my walls.