By midday, the document had been copied, quoted, and carried in every direction across Westmarsh. Scribes stood at corners reading it aloud. Students argued about its phrasing in café windows. Merchants read it between sales.
But in the Ashen Fold—a quiet, narrow street tucked between the Merchant Guild Archives and the tax offices—was where the most important conversation happened.
Correnne and I met with Mina and a delegation of moderate nobles who’d requested a "private clarification." They weren’t Merrow’s allies, not exactly. But they weren’t mine either. They were watching, waiting, deciding.
"Lady Ashcombe," began Lord Kessler, his words carefully measured, "your summit has… stirred things. Some of us are wondering where exactly this leads."
"To a more transparent kingdom," I sa
