The manor runner led them through the narrow streets until the gray stone walls of the royal treasury rose above them.
The royal treasury looked like a fortress, its walls lined with iron-bound doors that guarded the wealth of families older than memory.
Iron gates opened after the guards inspected the crown seal Tristan carried, but even then, suspicion clung to the air.
Inside, the hall smelled of ink, wax, and metal. Desks were stacked with ledgers, clerks hunched over their work, their quills scratching. To most, it was just a vault. To Tristan, it was the weight of every battle fought to reach this point.
When Tristan entered, the scratching slowed. Whispers carried across the rows: "The Mendez boy. The one who won the case. Troy's son."
The clerks had been reluctant. They whispered about his father's crimes, about how Troy Mendez had stolen and lied. Some doubted if his son could be any different.
