The King Who Broke Heaven’s Tithe

Chapter 112 His Own Name

Tev crossed out the word obedient so hard that the pen tore the paper.

Jun reached for another sheet. He caught her wrist with his left hand, gently enough that she knew the anger was not meant for her.

“Leave it. I want to remember what I nearly signed.”

The seventy fifth afternoon had turned cold. Beside the infirmary window, Pella's account of his hand lay open beneath a stone. Nera had brought a customary petition form, and its harmless-looking phrases had grown teeth as Tev read them aloud.

An obedient servant requests indulgence.

“I was burned doing their work,” he said. “I wasn't asking for a holiday.”

“No,” Jun said. “You weren't.”

Nera turned the unused form facedown.

“Then tell me the request in your own words.”

He wanted to stay while his hand recovered. He wanted the contractor to answer for the coupling that had failed. He wanted to stop waking with the certainty that somebody was counting the hours before they came to fetch him.

The last wish did not fit easily into a petition.

Jun wrote it anyway, on their private sheet.

Pella described the tight skin, the restricted movement, and the pain that followed repeated lifting. She recommended continued care near family and no return to boiler work. She did not promise that the hand would regain everything it had lost.

Tev read that sentence twice.

“Keep it,” he said before Jun could ask.

Outside, Daren was testing a cart seat for the northern journey. The sound of a hammer carried through the open shutter. Hearthfast could spare neither a mounted escort to Bellcut nor a second long walking journey before Tev's leave expired.

Senn knew a carrier who could do better.

Her name was Mirel. She rode between the ridge medicine houses, changing horses where her employers kept them. She expected to reach Bellcut in three days. She could bring a reply when her route returned, provided someone there prepared it in time.

She was not offering a promise of an answer.

Jun paid the letter f*e with her own copper coins, money saved from carrying and mending before the search. Nera counted the f*e in front of Tev. It bought delivery and return carriage, not a favorable decision.

Mirel agreed to obtain a receipt naming the person who accepted the packet.

“What if they won't?” Tev asked.

“Then I bring it back and tell you who refused.”

He nodded. A refusal that came home had more shape than silence.

Selka waited outside the infirmary until Jun stepped into the passage. She held a scrap with the name of the district infirmary reviewer and the office where accident classifications could be challenged.

“I know the route,” she said. “I should not write his account.”

Jun took the scrap, checked the office against Neve's earlier instructions, and returned inside. Selka stayed beyond the door.

Tev watched the shadow of her boots under the curtain.

“Did she ask to see me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He waited a moment, then added, “Use the address if it's right.”

Nera did. Knowledge could be useful without making its owner innocent.

The petition requested an extension through the ninety sixth day and a pause on any demand for his return while the accident charge was reviewed. Neve's account and the corrected boiler assignment accompanied Pella's examination. Tev asked for a copy of the contractor's maintenance record.

Jun looked at that last request.

“Do you remember a warning before it broke?”

“The coupling leaked. I told the foreman.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“A cleaner called Olan. He put a bucket underneath.”

They had a name now, but not a witness who had agreed to speak. Nera recorded the distinction. Tev would not strengthen his own account by claiming another man's testimony before hearing it.

Pella asked whether he wanted the scars covered during any later examination. Tev looked at the wrapping beside his elbow, then at Jun.

“I want them to ask before touching me.”

Nera added the request in plain words. It took one line. He watched her write it as though she had moved a wall.

His left hand cramped halfway through his signature.

Jun moved to steady the paper. He shook his head, rested, and began again below the first attempt. The second name was crooked and legible.

He looked unexpectedly pleased.

Mirel returned at dusk with her saddle bags closed against rain. She read the destination aloud and sealed the packet in a waxed sleeve. Tev kept a matching copy beside Sive's blue bowl.

At the gate, Jun started explaining the urgency again.

“I have the date,” Mirel said. “I won't forget it because you've stopped talking.”

Jun flushed, then laughed once and stepped back.

The horse's hooves faded down the road.

Tev stood beside her until they could no longer hear them. Eight days remained before the original leave ended. An answer could arrive before then. It could also come too late, or offer less than they had asked.

“What if they order me back?” he said.

Jun looked at her brother instead of the road.

“Then we read it together. We find out who will hear the challenge. I won't hand you over because a seal frightens me.”

“And you won't start a war without asking me?”

The question struck exactly where it should.

“I won't.”

He took his copy inside.

On the private sheet, beneath the wish about waking unafraid, Jun added Olan's name. Then Tev reached across her and wrote three words of his own.

Find the bucket.