An Unconcealed Admission

The door slammed against its frame, shutting out the bloody stench that had poured in from outside.

In the Lord's Hall, the high-backed chair reserved for Iron Gleam Fief remained empty.

The tea Harper had spilled across the table had long since gone cold. Brown liquid dripped over the edge, but he did not dare move. He sat perfectly still.

Across from him, Otto pressed his cracked lips into a thin line. His bloodshot eyes stayed fixed on the grain of the tabletop as he gripped the handle of his Silver Staff.

Then the heavy wooden door slowly swung open, its hinges grinding out a low groan.

Shien had changed out of his smoke-stained vestments. Draped in a clean black cloak, he returned to the head of the table.

Only then did the guards approach with lowered heads, clear away the cold tea, and replace it with fresh cups steaming white.

As though nothing had happened, as though no one was missing from the Assembly Hall, Shien said, "The Blood Moon is nearly upon us. Let's get these signed so everyone can go back and rest."

The guards slid the Joint Defense Pact, bearing the Coordination Office's wax seal, before the three men. The parchment rasped across the table.

Ryan snatched up a quill. Its nib scratched rapidly across the parchment, and he promptly pressed his lineage seal hard into the dark red wax. Every movement was brisk and decisive.

When Otto's turn came, his gaunt right hand shook so badly he could barely hold the pen.

The old noble drew a sharp breath and clamped his left hand around his right wrist. Only then did he manage to scrawl his name crookedly at the bottom of the page.

Harper did not even look. He hurriedly signed his name.

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