The wax had fractured beneath Alaric's thumb.
A pale line ran through the spread-winged crest without breaking its outer ring, leaving House Vayne's seal whole enough for anyone near the platform to read. Alaric unfolded the document across the table, the stiff paper yielding with a dry crackle that carried through the thinning noise.
Silence reached the platform unevenly. Those nearest the table quieted first, the spectators below followed when they saw where the attention had gone, and farther down the slope conversations went on until someone tugged a sleeve. Overhead the signal flags strained eastward, and a loose tether struck its post whenever the wind shifted.
Beside the Council's chair, Sera held her slate against her ribs. Her chalk had stopped halfway to the surface.
