Page 122 of Given to the Black King

“No.”

“Perr.”

“The treaty is signed, not ratified. Someone has to keep the original ledgers here.” He looks toward Callas’s carriage. “And the minister may be arrested before supper.”

Callas leans out. “A fair assessment.”

Perr gives me the manifest.

“The gifts are accounted for. The treaty copies are dry. The silks still balance.”

“Good.”

He glances at the black pennant under my arm.

“Will you be safe?”

“No.”

He swallows.

“Will you stay anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Then so will I.”

He steps away from the carriage and takes his place beside me.

Callas waits until the driver gathers the reins.

“The council will call this desertion.”

“They can call it what they like.”

“They may strip your office.”

“They already tried to trade it with the rest of me.”

His face tightens.

“I am sorry.”

The words are plain this time.

“Read your confession aloud before anyone can bury it,” I say.

Callas nods.

The last carriage clears the gate. Perr remains beside me as the bars fall into place.

By midmorning, Osk’s army covers the north road. The southern road is barred behind Callas’s delegation except to crown relay riders.

A little over four thousand men look smaller on a map.

From the west wall they fill the valley. Spears move through frost. Horse breath hangs above the front ranks. Osk’s black-and-red banner stands at the center.

The four hired-company banners wait behind his own levies.