Vessa did not slow until they had turned four corners and crossed a small square where a fountain ran with water the color of weak milk.
Sable kept the Crown Seed clenched in her hand. The mark on her palm still stung. It was not a burn the way flame burned. It felt like a word pressed into flesh.
The season bells rang again, then stopped mid chime, as if someone had changed their mind.
Vessa glanced up at the bell tower and swore under her breath.
Sable said, "What is happening to the city."
Vessa did not look at her. "The Seed is telling the truth. The truth is unstable."
Sable tried to fit that into something she had learned in the Registry. It did not fit.
A woman rushed past them with a basket of apples, shouting, "It is Springwake, you fools. Do you not smell it."
A man near the fountain shouted back, "It is Deepfrost. You are trying to cheat me."
The apples in the basket looked ripe and bruised at the same time.
Sable's throat tightened. "If the Seed is causing this, we need to put it back."
Vessa's jaw set. "We cannot put it back yet."
Sable stared at her. "Why not."
Vessa slowed and finally met her eyes. The look on her face was not playful now. It was flat and urgent.
"Because the vault is not the problem," Vessa said. "The oath chain is. Whoever holds the missing signature decides what the Seed obeys."
Sable lifted her marked palm. "And you think that is me."
"I think it is your true name," Vessa replied. "I think your true name is the missing signature."
Sable's hand trembled. She closed her fist again. "Then why did the Registry never tell me."
"They did not want you to know," Vessa said. "They wanted you to function. They wanted you to sign what they put in front of you without asking why."
Sable said, "You talk as if you know them."
Vessa gave a short laugh. "I know their knives."
They passed a row of narrow houses. The street changed shape as they walked. A doorway that should have opened onto a courtyard now opened onto a stairwell. A window showed a room that did not match the building around it.
Sable felt a tug in her head, like her memory tried to adjust to match what she saw.
She resisted the tug. The act made her teeth ache.
"What is my true name," Sable asked.
Vessa's eyes flicked to Sable's palm. "Do not make me say it."
"Why."
"Because names bind," Vessa said. "True names bind harder. If someone else hears it, they can pull you like rope."
Sable swallowed. "Then why did the Seed burn it into my skin."
Vessa looked forward again. "Because the Seed wants the missing signer awake. It wants you to know you are not who they wrote you into being."
A sharp voice rose behind them.
"Warlock Vane."
Sable turned.
A Registry patrol had entered the square. Four officers in gray. One carried an oath measure. One carried a short staff capped with iron, a tool used to pin spellwork to stone.
At their center walked a woman in gray robes with Sable's face.
Sable's copy.
She moved with calm authority. She did not hurry. She did not need to. The patrol parted for her as if she were already High Registrar.
People in the square turned to stare, then turned away fast, pretending they had seen nothing.
Sable's chest went cold.
The copy raised her voice, not shouting, but signing it into the air. The sound seemed to land inside the stone.
"By Registry authority, Sable Vane is commanded to kneel and surrender the Crown Seed."
Vessa stepped in front of Sable at once. "Do not answer her."
Sable's voice came out thin. "She is using my name."
"That is why she wants you to respond," Vessa said. "Your response makes the chain stronger."
The copy smiled, as if she had heard Vessa clearly.
Of course she had. The Seed made distances unreliable.
The copy lifted her hand and spoke again, smoother.
"Sable Vane will obey."
Sable's knees dipped.
Pain shot through her calves, like invisible hooks had sunk into muscle.
Sable clenched her jaw and forced herself upright.
Vessa grabbed Sable's wrist. "Run."
They ran.
The patrol surged after them, boots striking stone. The iron capped staff clanged as its bearer swung it up, trying to catch the edge of Vessa's sleeve.
Vessa darted left into a narrow alley. Sable followed, breath tearing her throat.
The alley should have ended at a brick wall.
It did not.
It opened onto a passage that Sable had never seen, lined with hanging lanterns and a string of drying herbs.
Vessa did not look surprised. She ran as if she had always known it was there.
They burst out into a back street crowded with carts.
A horse startled and reared as they passed. Its eyes were too white.
Sable almost collided with a tall boy carrying sacks. He shouted and spun away, then froze when he saw Sable's face.
Not her face.
Her copy's face in the distance, moving down the lane like a blade.
The boy's gaze flicked between Sable and the copy, then settled on Sable's marked hand.
His pupils narrowed. Not fear. Calculation.
He whistled once, sharp and quick.
A black fox dropped from a rooftop and landed on the cart rail with a soft thump.
The fox looked at Sable.
Then it changed.
Bones did not snap. Skin did not split. The shape flowed, quick and controlled, until a young man stood there instead, breathing hard as if he had been running a long time.
He wore travel leathers and a courier strap across his chest. A small seal case hung at his hip.
"Vessa," he said. "You are late."
Vessa bared her teeth. "Jory. Do not start."
Jory's gaze jumped to Sable's face and held. "That is her."
Sable stared back. "Who are you."
"Jory Quill," he said. "Skinroad courier. Sometimes thief. Depends who is asking."
The copy's voice rang down the lane again, nearer now.
"Sable Vane will be returned."
Sable felt the pull in her legs again.
Jory's eyes widened. "She is calling you like a leash."
Vessa snapped, "She is calling the false name. It still works."
Jory cursed. He reached into his seal case, pulled out a strip of leather stamped with a clan mark, and pressed it into Sable's free hand.
"Hold that," he said. "It will anchor you for a few breaths."
Sable grasped the leather without understanding.
The pull eased.
Not gone. Less.
Jory seized the front edge of a cart and shoved.
The cart rolled across the lane and blocked the patrol's path.
An officer shouted and tried to climb over. Another swung the iron capped staff and struck the wood.
The cart splintered, but it bought seconds.
Jory grabbed Sable's elbow. Vessa took her other side.
"Move," Jory said. "We cannot fight the Registry in the open."
They cut through a side path, then another. Jory led without hesitation. Either he knew the streets, or the streets were choosing to be known.
They reached a small shop front with a faded sign that read ROOK TEA.
The windows were dark. The door was closed.
Vessa knocked three times. Then twice more. Not an official rhythm.
A viewing slit opened.
An old woman's eye appeared, sharp as a pin.
"Vessa Pyre," the woman said. "You smell like trouble."
Vessa replied, "I brought bigger trouble."
The slit closed. A bolt slid back. The door opened.
The woman who stood there was not tall, but she filled the doorway with certainty. Her hair was gray and braided into a loop. Her hands were stained with herbs. A simple ring of iron sat on her thumb.
Mother Rook.
Sable had seen her once in passing during a Registry errand. She had looked like any shopkeeper. That had been the lie.
Mother Rook looked at Sable's face and did not flinch.
She looked at Sable's marked palm and went still.
Then she looked at Vessa.
"You touched the Seed again," she said.
Vessa nodded once. "We did not have a choice."
Mother Rook stepped back. "Inside. Now."
They slipped into the shop and the door shut behind them. A second bolt slid into place. Then a third that Sable had not seen.
The inside smelled of dried citrus and smoke. Shelves held tins of tea, jars of bark, bundles of wrapped leaves. A kettle simmered on a stove.
It looked ordinary.
Sable knew better now.
Jory paced once, then stopped at the window and peered through a gap in the curtain. "They are searching the square. They will come here."
Mother Rook snapped her fingers. A thin line of chalk on the floor near the door lit faintly and then vanished, as if it had been swallowed.
"They will not come here," Mother Rook said. "Not unless I allow it."
Sable's chest loosened by one small degree. "Are you a witch."
Mother Rook gave her a dry look. "No, child. I am a librarian who got tired of books being burned."
Sable did not understand, but the tone made her stop asking.
Vessa held out her empty hand. "The Seed is not with me."
Mother Rook's gaze shifted to Sable's fist.
Sable slowly opened her fingers.
The Crown Seed sat in her palm, pale and pulsing. The thorn crown symbol flickered in the air above it, then winked out.
Mother Rook inhaled and held it. Her voice turned quiet.
"It is awake," she said.
Sable asked, "What does it want."
Mother Rook looked at Sable's face as if she could see past skin.
"It wants its signer," she said. "It wants the name that makes the seasons obey."
Sable's throat tightened. "My palm has a mark."
"I know," Mother Rook replied.
Sable's heart jumped. "You know my true name."
Mother Rook did not deny it. She reached for a tin on a shelf, opened it, and pinched out a small amount of dried leaf.
"Sit," she said to Sable. "Both of you, sit."
Sable sat at a small table. Vessa sat across from her. Jory stayed standing, restless, watching the door.
Mother Rook poured hot water over the leaves and slid a cup toward Sable.
"Drink," she said. "It will steady your breath and dull your tongue."
Sable stared at the cup. "Dull my tongue."
Mother Rook's eyes stayed sharp. "If you speak your true name in fear, you will sign a chain you cannot break."
Vessa's shoulders dropped slightly, like she had been holding her breath since the square.
Sable lifted the cup with both hands and drank.
The taste was bitter, then clean. The heat settled in her chest and pushed back the coal pressure a little.
Mother Rook sat too, finally, and folded her hands.
"Listen," she said. "There are two Sables because someone split the record."
Sable frowned. "Split."
Mother Rook nodded. "The Seed can edit what the world remembers. If someone learns how to guide that edit, they can carve a person into pieces. One piece holds the public name. One piece holds the private name. One piece holds the obedient training. One piece holds what was supposed to die."
Jory's voice went tight. "That is not craft. That is war."
Mother Rook looked at him. "It is both."
Sable's skin chilled. "Who did it."
Mother Rook reached under the table and pulled out a thin tablet wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it and set it down.
An oath tablet.
Sable recognized Registry carving. The letters were clean.
At the top was a signature line.
The signature line held two names.
One was SABLE VANE.
The other was blurred, as if ink had been smeared by ash. But even blurred, Sable could feel it pulling at her bones.
Mother Rook kept her finger off the blurred name. She did not touch it.
"This is a private record," Mother Rook said. "It was written before you were brought to the Registry. It was signed by a House."
Sable's stomach turned. "Which House."
Mother Rook's gaze flicked to Vessa, then back to Sable.
"The House that pretends it serves law," she said. "The House that sits closest to the Seed."
Sable's voice went raw. "The Registry is not a House."
Mother Rook's expression hardened. "Everything with a symbol is a House. Some just hide their altar."
Jory swore softly.
Vessa leaned forward. "Say it."
Mother Rook did.
"House Vale," she said. "Oren Vale's line."
Sable's breath caught. "He has been helping me."
Mother Rook's eyes did not soften. "He has been using you."
Sable's hands shook around the cup. "Then why did he freeze when she touched him. Why did he look angry. Why did he tell Maera no cruelty."
Mother Rook's voice stayed steady. "Because he does not want you dead. He wants you owned."
Sable felt something break loose inside her chest, not flame, not pain, but a clean rage that scared her more than heat.
Outside, boots struck stone.
Jory lifted a hand. "They are here."
Mother Rook did not move. She reached up and turned a small brass bell on the shelf so it faced inward instead of outward.
The bell did not ring.
But Sable felt the room tighten.
A voice sounded outside the door, perfectly calm, perfectly familiar.
Sable's voice.
"Mother Rook," the copy called. "Open."
Mother Rook's eyes narrowed. "She learned your routes fast."
Sable's mouth went dry. The tea had dulled her tongue, but fear still pressed behind her teeth.
The copy spoke again, louder, and the sound carried through stone as if it had been signed into the building itself.
"By oath and law, I summon you."
Mother Rook stood.
Her hands began to move, small and precise. The air near the door thickened.
Then the copy said a single word.
Not Sable Vane.
Not the false name.
A word that made Sable's blood go cold because it felt like the start of her real name.
Mother Rook's face changed at once.
"Impossible," Mother Rook whispered.
Sable's chest seized. The mark on her palm burned hot.
Vessa's eyes went wide. "She cannot know that."
Sable tried to speak and found her tongue heavy, dulled, trapped.
Outside, the copy's voice softened, almost kind.
"Come home," she said.
The locks on the tea shop door clicked open by themselves.
And the Crown Seed pulsed hard enough that Sable's hand jerked, as if it wanted to leap into the copy's grasp.