The burly man sits behind the desk. I’m reminded of the many times I’ve been summoned to his office or tent during my active duty with the Royal Brigade. How many times have I stood before this man and received orders I was reluctant to carry out? How many horrendous laws have I enforced in the name ofjustice? How many Forayers did I train? How many Grounders were hanged or banished because I felt obligated to follow Erleya’s twisted laws?
“Welcome,” Rheon says, standing from the desk and dismissing a man with dark brown skin and flowing robes.
Jac!I glare at the youngest Master Historian Erleya has known as he bows to Rheon. That pretentious shit can irritate me by mere proximity. He’d always sided with Iywan, and now Rheon? He averts his gaze before sweeping out of the room. I’ve never trusted him and neither did Carys.
I turn back to Rheon. “You’ve retained the Council, I see.”
Rheon smiles with a coolness that I’m too familiar with. “Jac is the only survivor, evidently.”
My back straightens. I feel my nose wrinkle before I school my features into disinterest.
“Ah!” Rheon says lightheartedly as a clanging sound comes from somewhere behind me. I glance over my shoulder as a couple members of the kitchen staff file into the room with dome-covered silver chargers. A savory aroma reaches my nose as they walk past me and into the adjoining dining chamber.
Rheon holds his hand out toward the chamber, smiling courteously. I give him a nod and make my way into the next room. He follows me. “I hope you enjoy lamb and leek pie. We also have fresh mussels and seasonal vegetables.”
It’s an odd combination of foods, but the golden crust of the meat pie does look tempting. “I do,” I say to Rheon, though it feels like there is a rock in my throat.
“Sit.” He gestures to a chair.
I highly doubt he’s cursed the chair or anything, but it still takes me a moment to sit down. A tan young woman with curly blond hair glances askew at me as she fills Rheon’s goblet. As she moves to fill mine, I gently hold my hand up. “No, thank you.”
Surprise and intrigue lifts her brow.
“You mistrust me,” Rheon says, and the young woman straightens, glancing between us. Unease rolls off the other servants, a crawling sensation down my spine.
“I don’t generally consume alcohol.”
“You’re not on duty.”
“I’m always prepared.” A smirk twitches at the corner of the blond woman’s lips, amusement lighting up her green eyes.
“You can leave the bottle,” says Rheon. “You’re free of duty now, thank you.”
The blond dips a gentle curtsy and leaves the room silently while one of the other servants cuts the pie, dishing out slices for Rheon and me. The other servant piles vegetables and mussels onto our plates.
“Enjoy,” Rheon says after dismissing the servants with a wave of his hand.
I lift my fork to dig into the pie, but that rock in my throat slips down farther with the first bite I take. For a while, there’s only the sounds of the metal against porcelain and quiet chewing. Even as the rock descends farther and settles into my stomach. I place my knife and fork down, folding my hands atop the table.
Rheon’s eyes land on the manacle enclosing my left wrist and I keep my gaze unfaltering when he meets it again. “That must be uncomfortable,” he says.
“I’ve been in worse discomfort.” The scar along my neck itches, and I resist the temptation to scratch. “Why have I been brought here?”
“It seems your patience has dwindled over the years, soldier.”
I shrug. “I’m no soldier.”
“Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong, lad.” He waves his fork in the air before unceremoniously popping more pie into his mouth and chewing. “Once a soldier, always a soldier. We’re brothers—bound beyond blood. Ties that cannot be broken.”
Bullshit. Needing something to do with my hands, I pick my fork up again. “Commander, if you could be straightforward with me, I would appreciate it.”Before this forkaccidentallyends up in your neck.
“Join the Zenith. That’s all. Join our cause, fight for the winning side, and you will be pardoned of all misdeeds.”
“Misdeeds?” My knuckles go white on my fork before it drops onto my plate with a clang. “Do enlighten me.”
Rheon gently places his utensil down and leans back in his chair, his dark blue eyes narrowed on my face. “Your involvement with the rebels and their attempted slaughter of the princess five years ago. You never served your sentence.”
My stomach plummets. The sentence was fifty lashes prior to being hanged. “Are you threatening to hang me, Commander?”
