Blood welled at her nostrils. A drop fell onto her sleeve.
Lysandra moved swiftly, catching Elara's elbow. "Enough," she hissed.
"Not yet," Elara whispered, dragging one final dish into the room. The portal snapped shut, leaving her swaying.
Her nose bled freely now, crimson against her pale skin. She dabbed it with a cloth Brenna shoved into her hand, but her vision blurred.
Lysandra pressed her shoulder firmly into the chair again. "Sit. You have done enough. I will not let you tear yourself apart for scraps of food."
Elara leaned against her, eyes closing briefly. "They are not scraps."
Despite the blood and exhaustion, the platters were laid across the table. The smell filled the hall, rich and savoury, and hunger stirred even among the guards who had eaten earlier.
"Eat," Elara commanded.
For a moment, none dared move. Then Aveline reached for a piece, tearing it gently and placing it onto Elara's plate before taking some for herself. The others followed, hands shaking, eyes wide at the taste.
Grease slicked their fingers, bread soaked up the juices, and for a short time, silence reigned, broken only by the soft tearing of meat and the scratch of quills as Brenna stubbornly kept writing between bites.
Even the guards ate, though cautiously, as though afraid they would be scolded for daring to share their lady's table.
When the food had dwindled and their bellies were warm, Lysandra leaned back in her chair, her eyes glinting in the candlelight.
"You have your lists. Pages and pages. But parchment does not repair walls. Ink does not hammer nails. You need more than guards and maids."
Elara studied her silently. "And you have an answer."
Lysandra's lips curved faintly. "I know a man. A builder of sorts, though 'builder' is too small a word. He organises, commands, shapes ruin into strength. He will not come alone. He has men who follow him, skilled with hands and tools."
Brenna frowned. "And what will he ask in return?"
"Loyalty," Lysandra said simply. "Coin, if you have it. Blood, if it comes to that. But he is no fool. He will see what rises here, and he will want to be part of it."
Elara's hand tightened on her napkin. She glanced at the maids, then at the guards, then back to Lysandra. "Call him. Tomorrow."
"As you wish."
Candles had burned low by the time they finished. The table was littered with half-eaten scraps of chicken, stained napkins, and parchment heavy with lists.
Exhaustion hung over them, yet it was not the despair of before. It was the weariness of work well begun.
Elara rose slowly, Lysandra steadying her once more. "Enough for tonight. Tomorrow, we continue. Go to your quarters."
The maids bowed low, gathering their parchment. The guards filed out, their boots striking in unison, and the hall emptied.
At last, only Elara and Lysandra remained.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The room was quiet, filled only with the faint crackle of candles.
Then Lysandra touched her arm lightly. "You bleed for them, Elara. But they will follow you because of it."
Elara closed her eyes, too tired to argue.
And together, they left the hall for what little sleep the night would give them.