Darren
Heath met me in the war room an hour before dinner with the rosters, the maps, and the patient face of a captain who had answered the same questions from his king four times that week and would answer them a fifth.
“Wards,” I said.
“Renewed last night. Dayanara walked the full circuit herself, every stone, every threshold. She layered the nursery wing twice and complained about your stonework the entire time. Her exact words were: the castle is sound, the king is paranoid, and I want that in writing.”
“Vetting.”
“Every soul hired in the past two years re-screened. Every credential checked under merrow ink. Three forgeries in the serving applications, all caught at the gate, all of them commoners desperate to see the inside of a royal party. We sent them home with pastries.”
“P
