Outside the warded perimeter, the atmosphere was suffocating. The cold wind howled against the shimmering blue edge of the barrier, but no one in the sprawling pavilion paid attention to the weather. Hundreds of eyes were glued to a massive, gilded imperial hourglass resting on the central table.
Inside the glass, a narrow stream of pale golden sand trickled steadily into the lower bulb. The three-hour trial was coming to a swift, agonizing end.
The imperial organizer stood motionless beside the table, a heavy brass chime held in one gloved hand, his sharp eyes fixed entirely on the falling sand.
Around the perimeter, the nervous chatter of nobles and spectators swelled like a rising tide. Ever since the mutilated Sabertooth Leopard had rained from the sky and Crow had been carried away on a blood-soaked stretcher, wild theories had run rampant among the crowd.
