The silence clinging to the nave was brittle enough to snap under a whisper.
High Inquisitor Mel stood suspended in divine terror. Her fingers trembled against the golden hilt of her blessed estoc, the point resting against cold granite where the holy light had receded.
For an Inquisitor of the Sun, the law of the pyre was absolute scripture. When the accused burned crimson, execution was sacred duty. When the fire burned golden, the accuser was marked as blessed by the gods.
Yet the man marked for blood was Duke Asher of the south, a sovereign peer commanding legions of heavy cavalry and fortified border castles.
"High Inquisitor," Duke Asher said, his voice dropping into a guttural rasp as he took a slow step backward toward his retinue. "You forget yourself. You forget who authorized your deployment into this province."
Mel's hawkish face remained drained of color. "The rite was invoked before the Sun, Your Grace. The flame answered. To bear false witness upon holy stone..."
