Chapter 12: The Writ

Corwin dressed him with practiced speed.

Shirt, waistcoat, the black court coat with the silver buttons Corwin had sewn back on himself.

Then a high collar, buttoned to the chin.

It covered the bruise.

"Breathe," Corwin said, working the last button.

"I am breathing."

"Slower, my lord."

Leander's eyes met his in the dressing glass.

They were steady.

Corwin had never loved anything so much as the nerve it took Leander to make them so.

"They want me to break in front of witnesses," Leander said.

"I know."

"Then I won't."

He went down the stair.

The hall was full.

Every servant in the house stood in rows on both staircases, from the scullery maid up.

The housekeeper had her hands wound in her apron again.

Four of the Crown's guards stood at the door in white tabards.

Beside them waited a thin man in a lawyer's black with a leather case under his arm, and a clerk with a pen already uncapped.

"Your Grace," said the lawyer, bowing about two degrees.

"I am sorry for the hour.

"I come in the name of Lord Hadrian Dauntrey, under a writ signed by the Chief Magistrate."

He held up a long paper heavy with seals.

"Until the Midsummer Court sits, Lord Hadrian is named your temporary guardian.

"If, before two witnesses, Your Grace shows any sign of an unsound mind..."

"The Crown's guard may take you to the Gray House for your own protection."

A murmur ran through the servants.

Leander took the writ from his hand.

He read all of it, line by line, while the room waited.

"This is irregular," he said.

"It is lawful."

"It's both."

He handed it back to Corwin, and Corwin folded it into his pocket.

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