Page 121 of Given to the Black King

His claws are hidden. His fangs are not.

The ache is worse this morning. I can see it in the set of his jaw.

When the last plate is fixed, the armorers step back.

He crosses the room, blood on his armor and the green ribbon still at his wrist.

I hold out a second strip of green ribbon, cut from the final treaty packet.

He already wears the hunt ribbon around his wrist. I tie the treaty strip beneath the guard at his upper arm, where it cannot catch a blade.

“For luck,” I say.

“I have your contracts.”

“You may have both.”

His thumb brushes the cut beneath my jaw.

The room is full of soldiers and servants. He does not care.

He bends and puts his mouth against the mark on my shoulder.

His fangs stay clear.

A murmur moves through the corridor outside. The hold sees.

He lifts his head.

“West wall,” he says. “Ghenn’s second stays with you. When the first hired company withdraws, raise the black pennant.”

“And if none withdraw?”

“Then keep it down.”

“You attack without closing the slopes.”

“Yes.”

“More expensive.”

“Yes.”

I touch the edge of his breastplate.

“Come back.”

The gray retreats behind his pupils.

“I will.”

The southern delegation prepares to leave while Torgan’s army forms beyond the gate.

Callas rides in the first carriage. His confession is sealed inside the treaty case with copies sent by separate riders. The six Serathi guards split between the two carriages and the gift wagons, all of them going south with him.

Perr stands beside the second carriage holding the final manifest.

“You should go,” I tell him.