Page 103 of Given to the Black King

“You can leave now.”

The room goes quiet again.

Callas watches us.

I turn inside Torgan’s hand until I face him.

“I can.”

His jaw sets.

“I am not leaving today.”

The grip at my neck tightens by one degree.

“No?”

“No.”

He searches my face, then lets me go.

“Good.”

The word is quiet, and I believe it.

Before I can turn away, he draws a narrow black-country knife from inside his coat. Its flat sheath will fit beneath a sleeve.

“Left wrist.”

“Torgan—”

“You are staying.”

He fastens the sheath beneath my sleeve and closes my fingers around the hilt.

“Thumb against the catch. Pull straight. Cut once to make space, then run.”

I draw it. Awkwardly.

He resets it and makes me do it again.

“Better,” he says. “Not trained. Armed.”

Vess catches me outside the treaty room.

She is leaning against the gallery wall, examining one claw as if she has been there for hours.

“The sergeant moved,” she says.

My hand goes to the knife Torgan gave me that morning.

“Where?”

“East post. He met a courier before dawn.”

“You followed?”

“I followed the courier. He carries coast silver and Osk’s seal. He also carries a letter ordering the envoy taken alive before the roads close.”