The midday frost bell had barely ceased its echoing chime when the first heavy iron-shod wagons of the western garrison rumbled across the timber drawbridge. The weather quarantine had successfully funneled the incoming high-line lords straight into the lower courtyard, keeping them isolated from the main fortress barracks where Marcus’s loyal vanguard had already completed the quiet disarming of Jaran’s remaining clerks.

Nila stood beside Kaelen on the high stone balcony overlooking the yard. The freezing mountain wind whipped the hem of her dark charcoal wool dress against her boots, but the heavy fox-fur cloak Kaelen had pinned to her shoulders kept the bitter chill from her skin.

Kaelen didn't...