Chapter 11 — Regards to the Frost
Sierra had them hold Marcus Pierce in her old cell.
She told herself it was practicality — the deepest cell, the strongest bars. It was not practicality. It was the stone shelf where she had once sat with her knees to her chest and a cracked plastic test in her fist, and she wanted him sleeping on it.
She went down alone at midday. Orin objected with his face and obeyed with his feet, taking post outside the door.
Marcus sat on the shelf like a man at his own writing desk. Five years older, five days chained, and still composed — but the composure had changed since the oath-stone. It wasn't an elder's dignity anymore. It was something quieter and stranger, and it made the back of her neck prickle.
"Majesty." He inclined his head. "The room could use a
