Page 117 of Given to the Black King

Callas stops breathing.

Iona’s hand remains on my chest.

“Say it plainly,” she tells him.

“You were to be offered to Osk.”

The old blood rises so fast the fire bends in the draft of my breath.

Iona turns her head toward me.

“No.”

I stop.

She looks back at Callas. “They wrote my children into one future and my body into the other. Then called both peace.”

The table splits under my claws instead of his throat.

Perr jerks the inkpot out of the way before it falls into the crack.

Callas stands very still.

“And if Torgan won?” Iona asks.

“The contract you saw.”

“Me here. As influence.”

“Yes.”

“So the council sold me into both outcomes.”

“The committee did.”

“You knew.”

Callas’s face folds around the truth.

“Yes.”

Iona removes her hand from my chest and sits down.

She looks tired. I have never seen it on her.

Perr stops writing.

“Iona,” Callas begins.

“Lady Envoy.”

He swallows.

“Lady Envoy. I thought if I came with you, I could control the terms.”

“You thought you could arrange the best version of my sale.”

Callas grips the back of the empty chair but does not sit. “I thought I could keep you alive.”