The riverboat’s banner whipped in the wind and the stranger’s words hung heavy between the quay and the water.
“Open the gates,” he said. “For those who remember.”
People around us shifted like reeds in a storm. Men looked at the stranger, at the crown-ash sigil, and then at one another—some with fear, some with a hard, rising hope. The ledger in Corin’s hands felt suddenly small and loud.
I stepped forward because if no one moved, the city would be carried by the tide. My voice was rough and honest. “You will not make our choices for us,” I said. “We will not be turned into a lesson by men who wear grief as a cloak.”
The crowned man’s smile was patient, like a judge who has always had the last word. “Then give me your prince,” he said softly. “Give me the head that leads the house tha
