Page 146 of Given to the Black King

Iona waits.

No one helps him.

“I believed whichever man won would value the appearance of Serath’s cooperation.”

“That was not my question.”

Callas looks at her.

“What did you believe would happen to me?”

His face breaks.

“That you would be forced to marry him.”

“Which him?”

“Whichever one held the north.”

The bond carries Iona’s pain as a small, hard pressure beneath my ribs.

“And you came anyway.”

“I thought I could keep the terms narrow.”

“You thought you could negotiate the manner of my sale.”

“Yes.”

The word travels through the hall.

My claws extend against the throne arm.

Iona does not look at me. Her hand settles over mine and presses the claws flat against stone.

Hold.

I obey.

Callas sees it.

“So,” Iona says, “you will go home.”

He blinks. “Home?”

“With the treaty you tried to delay, the books that prove the fraud, and your testimony naming everyone who ordered it.”

“They will ruin me.”

“Yes.”

“They may kill me.”

“Then make enough copies that killing you becomes useless.”

Perr lifts the first case. His hands shake, but his voice does not.

“There are twelve complete sets. Three are already on separate roads. Two more leave at dawn. One is held by the Black King’s merchant court. One goes to every unpaid company.”