A Basket in the Council Chamber

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Varek returned with three explanations before the storehouse keeper arrived with one.

The grain had been damaged in transit. The token had been issued incorrectly. The merchant might have confused an old allocation with a new one.

Amara let him finish.

Then she asked Keeper Osa to turn the basket upside down.

The grain spread across the polished floor in a pale, unpleasant heap. Lio looked horrified. Suri, who had come from the palace gardens with soil on her sleeves, fetched a broom and handed it to the nearest courtier.

Osa knelt beside the grain. “Stored wet,” she said. “Not damaged on the road. See the way it has clumped?”

“An isolated loss,” Varek replied.

“Perhaps.” Amara placed Beren's token on the table. “Why was its replacement withheld?”

Osa stared at the seal.

“Because I was told the queen had reserved the dry store for treaty obligations.”

Silence moved through the chamber.

“I issued no such order,” Amara said.

Varek described the message as an administrative misunderstanding. He used the phrase twice, the second time more slowly.

Suri spoke before Amara could answer. “While you clarify the misunderstanding, the garden kitchens can make a meal from their own stores. Not enough for a week. Enough for today.”

The practical offer loosened something in the room. Osa began naming available supplies. Lio started another list. Even Nima moved closer to the table.

Amara ordered the seal register brought to her.

Varek objected. The jaguar clasp, he said, was the personal emblem of the crown. Its authority could not be placed under general suspicion merely because a clerk had misunderstood a message.

Amara unfastened the clasp from her shoulder.

Without it, the ceremonial mantle slipped. Suri caught the fabric and secured it with a plain wooden pin.

“Then let us find out who has been speaking with its voice,” Amara said.

She placed the clasp beside the clay token.

The impressions matched. But matching proved only that someone had used the authorized stamp kept in the stewardship office. It did not establish whose instructions had accompanied it.

For the first time that morning, Varek had no explanation ready.

As the council dispersed, Suri pressed a folded leaf wrapper into Amara's hand.

“Lunch,” she said. “You become very impressive when you forget to eat. Unfortunately, you also become foolish.”

Inside the wrapper was a small roll and a note from the kitchen quartermaster.

The western reserve store, the note said, had been emptied at night.