Taul stood on edge, convinced of the elder brother's claim. It pleased him to see how the matron ceded the judgment to her daughter. His own father had done similarly with him, teaching him how to lord power over the various vassals and workers of his birth house.

Julissa bit her lip and her cheeks flushed pink. The hall hushed. Unlike the matron's graveled voice, Julissa's voice was soft and pleasant. The sound of youth and energy. Gishna seemed to collapse into her draping clothes even more. Julissa ruled in favor of the elder brother's claim, but did not deny the younger, offering him a consortship with an Ilor'Hosmyr branch. It was a wildly generous offer. Taul knew the branch well.

He breathed deeply. His chances were good with the heiress.

A page led the brothers away to a small side room from which scribes darted in and out, carrying messages.

The next plaintiff stepped forward, demanding the matron force his neighbor, Lor'Jantyrr, to repair the wall of his estate. An ox-drawn cart had damaged the wall. A murmur rose through the crowd. Beasts of burden were not allowed within Vaidolin except with the high matron’s permission. Usually for bearing large stones inside. Mornae appreciated the beasts for their strength, but despised the stench and valued the cleanliness of their streets.

Taul swallowed. He knew Lor'Jantyrr. They had a presence in every market and their strength grew daily, both in chits, product, and members. The estate in question was next to a large estate bought by one of Jantyrr's daughters. The high matron didn't look interested in the complaint, but as the plaintiff, Bayyl Lor'Palstin, ranted on about his neighbor, she leaned forward. Maunyn leaned down to her and whispered.

She nodded and sat back. Her head jerked left, her eyes glinting dull yellow in the firelight.

“I am informed that Lor'Palstin owes Ilor'Hosmyr three years tax,” she said hoarsely.

Bayyl protested, rattling off a list of misfortunes, and his weakness became clear: a poor harvest, falling sales at the market, losing a son to consortship, and debts. Taul peered around the shoulder of the man in front of him and noted Bayyl's expensive garb. His own garb was of modest tenth wools mixed with plains. Respectful, but humble.

“You seem unable to manage your house, sir,” Maunyn said. “And now you wish our high matron to resolve your petty squabble? This is a matter for the court of the goddess's own justice. Should you not take up your spear and make a complaint there?”

The mention of the court shocked everyone. That was Zauhune and Roturra's business. Maunyn sneered at Bayyl. His hand rested on the pommel of a kithaun blade. Bayyl was badged in the common way, his ribbon purchased after drilling for a few days in Isilmyr's courtyard.

Bayyl, bowed low, said, “If I should fail in the court, my house would lose its consort.”

“Maybe your matron could find herself someone more worthy,” Maunyn said. “A Jantyrr, perhaps?”

A hush settled on the audience hall. The strong grow stronger, was the saying. The high matron clearly favored Jantyrr. Maunyn wasn't wrong. Everyone knew it. Palstin had no champion to fight their cases for them. They all looked to the high matron's throne for aid, sacrificing their dignity and standing to a stronger house.

The high matron muttered to herself, but loud enough to carry through the great hall. “I must have my tax.”

“Yes, high matron,” Bayyl said. “It is my highest concern. But the wall⁠—”

Gishna slammed her bony hand to the armrest, her face twisting with pain.

Maunyn's blade rose an inch from its sheath.

Bayyl fell to his knees and the rest of the crowd shrunk in place, bowed by the ire of the high matron, but also embarrassed for Bayyl. Even Taul could not help blushing. He wanted to lift the man up off his feet. This was not reverence; it was shameful. Bayyl's matron would suffer for having so weak a consort.

“What can I offer, Face of the Goddess?” Bayyl asked. “How can I make amends?”

All this time, Julissa had sat quietly, hands clasped on her lap, her gaze low. This had seemed a straightforward case. Lor'Palstin had a line of witnesses and a magistrate had issued a report. Lor'Jantyrr didn’t even deny it.

Sweat ran down Taul's temples. This was not an auspicious time at all. His own house was at least six months behind on the tax.

Julissa raised her head then. The softness was gone.

“Lor'Palstin will cede to Ilor'Hosmyr enough of their estate to cover the tax.”

As if by magic, Raum Lor'Jantyrr stepped forward. Taul had seen him at the tournaments, far too rich for a mid-tier Hosmyr.

“Gracious matron, you will honor Lor'Jantyrr if you allow us to mend the harm done by Lor'Palstin. We will buy the holdings and remedy this injustice.”

Julissa batted her lashes once in agreement. Just like that, another ancient vassal fell into oblivion. The crowd made way as armored knights hauled Bayll out in shame.

Taul held his breath and his mind blanked, thinking of a way out.

A courtier motioned him forward.

He stepped under the dome. The tiles shone with a pale and potent light which he’d not noticed until now.

“Step closer,” the scribe near Julissa said to him.

He stepped into the light and felt a shimmering warmth.

What is light may be dark and what is dark may be light. Why did his father's sayings plague him this day? A simple man, but a true Mornae, skilled with the spear, and with proper pride based in truth. He had the signs.

Up close, the high matron looked completely spent. As a boy he had seen her aged but regal. Now his inclination was to rush forward and help her sit up. She seemed to struggle against the earth, as if death called with every movement, drawing her to the dust. Her white eyes raged with pride, though. No dust would ever touch her. Only the blue fire of a high priestess would touch her.

She tilted her head and gazed at him from behind the white mask which separated her from the world.

“Taul, Prime Consort of Lor'Toshtolin, born of Lor'Nevtar, both born of Ilor'Hosmyr, third tier,” the scribe said.

Gishna's head twisted a little more.

“Thank you, gracious ma—” Taul started.

“Son of Minna?” the high matron asked.

“Yes, high matron. I co⁠—”

“The first one or the second?”

“Second, high matron.”

She turned away and her wrinkled lips puckered. “I knew this priestess. And who is your consort?”

Before he could speak, the high matron spoke his love's name.

“Ryldia? Toshtolin. Yes, I know this one, too. Such a sad business.” Her face turned down, touched with anger. “And so why do you come here?” she asked. “Another consort who can't do his duty? Eh? What say you all?”

The crowd chuckled nervously.

Taul tugged on his tunic to free the prickling heat under his arms. He would gladly suffer a thousand lashes if Ryldia would bear a child. He nodded and held back angry tears.

Gishna raised a gnarled hand to silence them all.

Taul's hands were open, palms up in the light. “I have nowhere else to go, High Matron, Face of the Goddess. I have been to the temple⁠—”

“For what reason?” she asked, pushing herself up.