As the ogre bailiff led the jurors away, Jon Weatherall leaned over to Muhrot. “What sentence can I expect if they convict me?” he whispered.

“Severance from the fey world, as the prosecutor asked,” Muhrot replied curtly. “Were you not listening?”

“Come on, Muhrot. What does that mean, exactly? Aren’t I already severed from you, since I’ve never seen any of you or your kind before in my life.”

“In your life? No. In your dreams? Yes. Severance from the fey world means no more dreams, no more inspiration, no more seeing the unseen. Mundanity unending.”

“Surely the jury wouldn’t do that to a fellow author, would they?” Weatherall said, with a nervous little laugh.

“Only if they think you’re guilty,” said Muhrot, stonefaced.

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