The wall folded inward with a wet crack. Planks snapped, stone blocks tipped, and dust rolled into the street.
Chunks struck the ground and skidded. Smaller pieces rattled and settled. For a moment, everything held. Dust hovered at chest height. Sound pressed flat, as if wrapped in cloth.
Seris stood where the floor had been. Her boots were planted, though her knees wavered. Blood clung to her lower lip and dotted her chin. Her breath hitched, then dragged in again. The crown was already there, broken into jagged arcs, seated wrong on her head.
Cracks split its surface. One shard angled low near her temple. She lifted a hand and stopped halfway, fingers trembling, then let it fall.
Water spilled from the inn's torn side, pouring straight from the river into the street. It spread in fast, shallow sheets, tugging at chair legs and splintered boards.
