Then at me.
I hold his gaze and sit back.
The session begins badly for Callas.
He asks for another two hundred men withdrawn from the western road.
“No,” Torgan says.
Callas tries the grain levy.
“No.”
He requests a private review of the disputed customs language.
“No.”
“You have not read the amendment, Great King.”
Torgan’s eyes remain on my shoulder.
“I read it yesterday.”
The old note under his voice makes the mark throb.
I write the next line twice.
Before noon, Perr lays the final treaty pages in three matched stacks.
I read the border clause aloud. Serath keeps both forts. The garrisons remain capped. Black-country inspectors cross the river twice a year under safe conduct.
Torgan taps the next page with one claw. “North road.”
“Joint control,” I say. “Joint tolls. Neither crown closes it without written cause and ten days’ notice.”
He turns to the Vessel schedule. The widow’s road labor, seed grain, child rations, and quarterly audit sit inside the treaty now, no longer favors that can vanish with a king’s mood.
“This line is yours,” I tell him.
“No.” His gaze lifts to mine. “You made it enforceable.”
The coast audit follows: forty days to open every lending book or lose black-country markets. Callas’s mouth tightens, but he finds no remaining clause to delay.
Perr sets out the seals.
Callas signs for Serath. Torgan signs for the black country. I sign as witness and chief drafter. Wax takes the three impressions. For one quiet breath, every argument between us becomes law.
Then Callas opens his case.
“The permanent guarantee remains unresolved,” he says. He places the rough marriage annex beside the treaty. “My advance discretion is valid. Peace of this scale requires a bond the next council cannot dissolve.”
“The treaty is complete,” I say. “The annex is separate.”
“It is the security beneath the treaty.”
“No,” Torgan says. His eyes leave my shoulder at last. “She is not security.”
Callas reaches for the formal engrossment. Perr places it before him.