Hajin slapped the town's survey down beside Seliza's prepared parchment, then stuck out his hand for the ink.
Marrick dipped his quill while Vella peeled winter plums beside Ash's chair, keeping its legs clear of the crowded table. Outside the casements, miners watched forty-two mercenaries form ranks while Loccy rested a palm on the hammer beside her pillar.
Seliza drew the first sheet within reach without disturbing the ore sample sitting between them.
"Taren serves my household," she said, tipping her head toward the silent attendant behind her left shoulder, "and your scribe looks ready to begin."
Hajin eyed the man, and the reading came back as blank and useless as it did last night.
'A name lets me yell at him, but it doesn't tell me what's standing behind her.'
"Write down whatever we agree to," he said, rapping Marrick's clean margin with one knuckle, "and leave a fat gap beside anything I tell her to shove."
