The King Who Broke Heaven’s Tithe

Chapter 53 What Jun Carried

Jun rejected Daren's first route before he finished drawing it.

“That puts us past the seizure point.”

“It saves half a day.”

“For the men waiting there as well.”

Daren looked down at the charcoal line. He had drawn the quickest military road to White Stair, forgetting that three people carrying a receipt were not a company of soldiers.

He rubbed out the bend.

It was late on the twenty fourth day. Jun, Osric, and Pellan would leave at dawn. Pellan had agreed to guide them to the lower weighing house; Osric would carry his bow and decide for himself when a shot was possible. Their route crossed at Cinderbank, climbed beyond Rillmarket, and reached White Stair by the following evening if the weather held.

The market was on the twenty seventh. They would begin returning that afternoon and aim for Hearthfast on the twenty ninth.

“If you're late?” Iven asked.

“Send a question with the next traveler,” Jun said. “Don't send someone straight into the same road trouble.”

“Where should they ask?”

Pellan named Denna's usual lodging yard and a charcoal shelter above the north fork. Nera copied both. If they had to turn back, they would leave a spoken message with a named keeper, not trust a mark on a tree nobody might find.

Maret brought the receipt in its old wrapping.

She held it while Jun repeated the conditions. Keep it dry. Open it with another person present. Let Ista inspect it, but ask before leaving it out of sight. Return the original.

“If she says the book cannot be opened without keeping it?” Jun asked.

Maret's fingers tightened.

“Come back and tell me.”

There it was: a limit that could cost them an answer.

Jun stared at the folded bark. Then she nodded.

Daren watched Maret place it in her hands. A kingdom might begin with a stolen fortress. It could also end in the moment someone decided a grieving woman's possession was too useful to remain hers.

Osric tested the strap on his pack while they talked. He carried a spare bowstring wrapped against damp, but only seven serviceable arrows. Daren asked whether he wanted more made before departure. The hunter shook his head. A hurried shaft could turn a careful shot into a wounded stranger. He wanted a better knife sheath instead; his old one rubbed his hip raw on long climbs. Berrit repaired the stitching before supper.

Selka sat at the far end of the table. She had prepared a list of questions and left room beneath each for an answer she could not supply.

Jun read the first aloud.

“Which moving party received meal on the date shown?”

“Start there,” Selka said. “The receipt links to a delivery. You need the delivery linked to a party before looking for Tev.”

“And if his name is in another book?”

“Ask what identifies him. Age, household, the first order. There may be another Tev.”

Jun looked up sharply, then returned to the page.

Daren could see the temptation to promise that a name would be enough. Selka left the question unsoftened. It was the most useful thing she could offer and the least comforting.

Sive came with a small piece of blue wool. She had cut it from an old cuff Tev had left at home.

“For him,” she said.

Jun swallowed. “We're looking for a record first.”

“I heard.”

She put the wool beside the questions anyway. Jun folded it into a different pocket from the receipt.

Iven issued five days of grain portions for Jun and Osric: two and a half pounds between them. Those portions were their daily shares, charged once against the coming days, not an addition to the household ration. Pellan carried his own provisions. Roots, dried greens, and road food would have to stretch the small amount.

They could turn home if supplies or weather made the inquiry unsafe. Missing a market would hurt. Losing the people who went would hurt more.

Daren kept that thought to himself until Jun asked whether he had anything else to say.

“Come home with what you can establish.”

“Even if it's nothing?”

He wanted to answer quickly. She deserved something better than quick reassurance.

“Even then.”

At dawn, the three left while the yard was still blue with cold. Daren watched from the threshold, his wrapped hand tucked beneath his cloak. Jun did not look back until Sive called her name.

The old woman raised an empty hand. Jun raised hers in return.

By midday, Ress brought word that they had crossed safely and joined the lower road. He also reported Rovan's sacks waiting at the agreed place.

Brida and four willing carriers went down with the iron plates. They returned in pairs, each sack slung between two poles rather than loaded onto the narrow crossing with a person. The transfer took most of the afternoon.

Iven weighed every sack. One contained a fist sized stone mixed among the peas. Rovan's porter cursed, removed it, and made up the missing weight from his small reserve bag before leaving.

Daren was absurdly relieved by the correction. A little fraud, caught and repaired, was easier to face than the mountain.

That night the full one hundred and forty pounds stood inside the hall. Jun's bedroll lay empty near Sive's.

Daren heard the old woman wake once and ask whether anyone had come to the gate.

He answered before she needed to ask again.

“Not yet.”