Chapter 16 — Spit and Stone
By dawn the packhouse was a fist, closed tight.
Every gate barred. Every window shuttered. Royal guards doubled on the east wing stair and doubled again at the nursery door, standing so close together their shoulders touched. Nobody in Ironridge slept, and nobody complained about it.
Sierra had not sat down since midnight.
"Nothing," Orin said. He set the report on her table like a man laying down a dead bird. "No print. No thread. No broken latch. The dogs in the yard never barked — and Majesty, those dogs bark at weather." He rubbed his face with both hands. "In thirty years I have never written the word nothing on a crown report. It's on this one four times."
"Scent?"
"That's the fifth." He hesitated. "There isn't any. Not faint. Not masked. None, Majes
