Tara looked at Daphne. It was hard to do that without letting the tears come. She could see what had happened to her now the wards were engaged, the enchantments woken, the demons risen from their slumber. Metal glinted through gaps in Daphne’s skin, and glyphwork Tara could barely comprehend. The parts of Daphne their old teacher hollowed out were filled with weapons and golemetric clockwork. The demons that wore Daphne’s face, many-armed, sharp-toothed, and glyph-inscribed, held two of Tara’s friends by the throat.

“Sorry, Daffy,” she said, and opened her briefcase.

“Ms. Abernathy, you are seconds from being held in contempt.”

“I’ll use those seconds wisely, Your Honor. Seril stands in Her own defense. I wouldn’t dream of interrupting a case in such an advanced stage of debate. I am here only to submit relevant documents to the Court of Craft.”

Ramp seemed tense. Tara liked that.

“Give them to me.”

The deal, calligraphed in Tara’s own hand, signed in Altemoc’s blood, floated past hovering gargoyles, to the bench. The Judge cleared her throat, produced reading glasses from her breast pocket, donned them, and scanned the deal.

“Speaking of irregular, Ms. Abernathy.”

“I understand your hesitation, Your Honor, but I assure you the document’s legitimate.”

“No payment involved?”

“Altemoc’s Concern has an unorthodox structure, Your Honor. They do not seek repayment from the direct beneficiaries of their dispensations.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, really, but the fact remains: that document represents a transfer of assets from the Two Serpents Group to the Church of Seril Undying.”

“Very well,” the Judge said, and a spring unwound between Tara’s shoulder blades. “Ms. Abernathy, how are you supporting yourself outside the circle? You aren’t strong enough to fight Alt Coulumb’s interdict by yourself.”

She allowed herself a smile. “That brings us the next matter I wanted to discuss. Your Honor, Ms. Mains, dear guests”—that last addressed to the skyspires arrayed around them—“I’m afraid you are all trespassing.”

*   *   *

The fight’s pause let Daphne-under-shells think again, let her reclaim her mind from the machine. She felt a sudden tension when Tara spoke, the grinding of ill-meshed gears, the music of a dying engine.

The Judge frowned. “Go on.”

“Your Honor,” Tara said, “those assets represent airspace rights over Alt Coulumb, which have been the subject of tangled courtroom challenges for fifty years. You see, the sky above Alt Coulumb belongs to Seril. Kos claimed it after She died, but the King in Red of Dresediel Lex registered a competing claim based on salvage rights from Seril’s presumed corpse. With this transfer, that salvage claim has been formally relinquished; the King in Red’s airspace rights devolve to Seril. And now”—and the grin Daphne knew Tara thought she was hiding grew wider—“now Kos has dropped his competing claim.”

Lightning stripped and squared the circle. Thunder rolled.