11

Isolde and Kaoran had been on the road for two days when Teren caught up with them.

He appeared at dawn, riding a mule that seemed to hate him. He dismounted before the animal could decide to throw him into a ditch. Black dust coated even his eyelashes.

“They’ve closed the mine,” he said.

Isolde put away the map she had been studying.

“For safety?”

“For punishment. Soren received an order from Varek. The regency is taking the entire property, the reserves, and the contracts. It says Nydel sabotaged the gallery and stole strategic material.”

“Any arrests?”

“Doven, Sava, and Mella are on the first list. Enna is named as an accomplice. Joren has gotten two people out of the village. The others are still in their houses because the Guard is holding the families in the square.”

Kaoran looked at the southern road. They had covered a little over four leagues. The Ember Plains began beyond a chain of hills. Going back would turn their departure into a circle and could give the Guard the route they meant to take.

“When does the order take effect?” Isolde asked.

“At noon. Twenty wagons are coming for the first lot. They’ll keep coming back until the stores are empty.”

“How much is left?”

“A hundred and forty tons in the yard. More in the storage buildings.”

“If they take it, Nydel goes cold.”

“And the mine loses the payment from three villages that advanced grain,” Teren said. “Soren says the workers owe that amount too.”

Isolde spread the map over a rock.

“How many soldiers?”

“Thirty-four. They expect another twenty with the wagons.”

“Do the workers have weapons?”

“Picks, shovels, and plenty of rage.”

“That’s what Soren needs.”

A fight in the square would let him declare a rebellion, arrest families, and turn the mine into military property without arguing over the accounts. The official story would be ready before the first blow.

“We’re going back,” Isolde said.

Kaoran pointed to the saddlebags.

“Under what name?”

Iria was wanted. The name Sela might have reached Joren and the baker. Isolde’s face circulated in confidential reports.

“None,” she replied. “We go in by the river.”

Teren hid the mule at a farm and led them east. The river curved around the kilns and reached a slag heap. From there, they could see the square without crossing the posts.

The families were penned behind barriers. Soldiers had separated the miners into lines. Sava stood beside Doven with her hands bound. Mella argued with a scribe, pointing at a document.

A new banner hung above the office: Varek’s circle over a flame of Caleryon.

“Where’s Enna?” Isolde asked.

“Tending Emon at Mella’s house. The Guard is waiting for her to finish so they can arrest her.”

Kaoran counted the exits.

“Three posts. Eight men at the mill. Another ten around the square. The rest are watching the mine.”

“The reinforcements will come over the southern bridge,” Teren said.

Isolde traced the route with a finger. The wagons had to cross a loading bridge beside the washhouse. The structure could bear coal, though one of its beams had been damaged during the thaw.

“Can we move the reserves?” she asked.

“You can’t hide a hundred and forty tons in one morning.”

“Who has a claim to them?”

“The mine, until today.”

“I’m asking who has paid.”

Teren named six villages, three smithies, and several families. Doven kept contracts. The regency office should have copies too.

“The coal already belongs to other people,” Isolde said. “Varek can requisition it, but then he has to acknowledge a debt to each buyer.”

“He’ll acknowledge whatever he wants,” Kaoran replied.

“If the contracts leave Nydel, the debt goes with the merchants. Arkhe needs coal for its furnaces. The villages paid in grain. Taking the reserve creates enemies beyond this square.”

Teren smiled.

“I can get into the office.”

“Soren knows your habits by now.”

“That’s why he’ll be expecting a back door.”

Isolde pointed to the mine drain.

“Go in through the cistern. Get the contracts and the payment ledger. Don’t change any figures.”

“Why?”

“We need the copies to match when Varek says they’re forgeries.”

Kaoran looked at the banner.

“That protects a future claim. The wagons arrive today.”

“The bridge can stop them.”

“If it collapses, they’ll call it sabotage.”

“Then it stays up. We close it for safety under the same rule Soren ignored in the gallery.”

Teren pulled a folded sheet from his shirt.

“Mella had this when they arrested her.”

It was the decree the Council had approved months earlier. It set fixed rates, exempted minors and the injured from forced labor, and required a civilian inspection after a serious accident at a facility. It bore Darian’s signature and, in the margin, Aelyn’s conditional vote.

Isolde ran her thumb beside Aelyn’s name. The note required the inspection to include workers chosen by the affected shift. Above it was Darian’s signature.

She remembered how they had laid a letter between them beneath the pomegranate tree, ink facing up so they could point out what still needed checking.

She had asked him for answers; he had kissed her wrist before speaking of the wedding.

She still knew the slant of that handwriting better than many faces.

“I’ll have to show his signature,” she said.

Kaoran waited.

Isolde smoothed the fold crossing Aelyn’s name. Her friend had managed to put that condition into a regency document. Mella could use it at noon.

“Soren will have to answer for disobeying it. I want his scribe to hear that in front of the buyers.”

She folded the decree with both signatures visible.

They divided the plan among them.

Teren would enter through the drain and take the contracts.

Nia would wait at the laundry to carry the sheets to the people making copies.

Kaoran would find Enna and arrange escape routes for the families if the square grew dangerous.

Isolde would go to the bridge with Mella.

She needed to free the woman without turning the square into a fight.

“Soren has her in front of twenty soldiers,” Kaoran said.

“And a hundred witnesses.”

Isolde tucked her hair beneath a gray hood and covered the lower half of her face with a coal-blackened cloth. She kept the knife hidden. She carried the decree openly in one hand.

She entered by Forge Street.

Conversations stopped. Several people recognized the cloak from the rescue. Joren, standing beside the mill, inclined his head. Doven lifted his bound hands so she could see the knot.

Soren Tyre turned.

“I knew you’d come back.”

“You have an inspection to carry out.”

Isolde raised the decree. The nearest soldier rested a hand on his sword hilt.

“That order was suspended after the sabotage,” Soren said.

“Your scribe can read out the suspension. The buyers will want a dated copy.”

The man beside Mella gathered his papers. Soren turned toward him just enough for the workers to notice his doubt. Isolde kept the document high; her arm ached, but lowering it would give the soldier a clear path to her wrist.

“Arrest her,” Soren ordered.

Two soldiers advanced. Isolde stood still.

“If you arrest me, the decree and the list of all twenty-seven will leave Nydel before the wagons arrive. The buyers in Arkhe will also receive the codes proving you kept the machine running after the alarm.”

Soren glanced toward the office.

“You’re lying.”

“Check it. The key is on the badge of the watchman we brought out alive.”

The soldiers knew the man. One lowered his gaze.

“What do you want?” the officer asked.

“Carry out the inspection authorized by the regent. Mella will be the civilian observer. Sava will represent the affected shift. Doven will examine the machine. The families come out from behind the barriers. No one touches the reserves until the contracts are here.”

“You have no authority.”

“Under your rules, that paper does.”

Soren took the decree. He read Aelyn’s note and looked for a flaw.

“The inspection can take place while the property remains in custody.”

“Custody doesn’t change who owns shipments that have already been paid for.”

“The regency will compensate the buyers.”

“At what rate?”

The officer had no answer ready.

Mella spoke from the barrier.

“Arkhe paid for forty tons. Nydel received grain and salt. If you take the coal, we’ll have to give back food we’ve already eaten. Do you want to cut our stomachs open too?”

A dry laugh passed through the square.

Soren gestured. A soldier closed his hand around Mella’s arm.

Isolde took a step.

The square felt the movement. The miners lifted their heads. Doven strained against the ropes. Joren stepped out of the mill’s shadow.

A spearpoint lowered toward Doven’s chest. Isolde stopped and opened the hand that had reached for her knife. The soldier was watching her wrist; she held the decree at that same height until she could breathe again.

“Mella comes with me to the bridge,” she said. “You send two guards. If we find a risk, we close it. Meanwhile, your scribe gathers the contracts. No one leaves Nydel, and no one fights.”

“And if I refuse?”

“The buyers will know you chose a shipment over an inspection signed by Darian Rhyne.”

She used the regent’s name deliberately. Soren answered to Varek, but he needed to look as though he served Darian. Written proof of disobedience could make him a convenient scapegoat.

The officer ordered Mella released.

“One hour,” he said. “Then the wagons load.”

“Safety will determine the time.”

Soren sent four guards.

They walked toward the bridge. Mella’s wrists were still bound. Isolde asked for a knife to cut the ropes. The sergeant refused.

“An observer needs her hands,” she said.

“She can observe with her eyes.”

Mella lifted her leg and kicked the sergeant in the shin.

“I have feet too.”

The man drew his blade. Isolde stepped between them before the gesture could become anything more.

“Cut the rope, or explain in your report why you injured the observer appointed under the decree.”

The sergeant freed Mella.