Page 17 of Given to the Black King

The king laughs.

Once. Low and rough.

The sound runs straight through me. His gaze sharpens.

Damn him.

“Who prepared these?” he asks Ghenn.

“Lord Osk’s factor.”

“Send for both of them.”

Ghenn’s amusement disappears. “Osk is already in the hold.”

“Why?”

“He arrived before dawn. He demanded council.”

The doors slam open before the king can answer.

A broad man strides into the hall in muddy boots and an iron-braided beard. His right hand is wrapped around the haft of an axe.

“Osk,” Ghenn says under his breath.

So this is the northern lord whose cattle multiply on paper. Osk ignores the black line.

Steel leaves three scabbards at once.

Torgan raises two fingers. The guards stop with their blades half drawn, every point aimed at Osk. Torgan does not look at them. He wants the room to hear what Osk says next.

Osk crosses the line and stops beside the table.

“You summon my factor over a southern woman’s counting?”

The king remains seated. “Take your hand off the axe.”

“Serath rebuilt Wrenford Fort and closed the old cattle road through the marches. My men have waited two years for that land. You promised it.”

“Wrenford stands on their side of the river. The treaty permits repairs. Your factors lost the cattle road when they stopped paying its tolls.”

“They changed the border.”

“They maintained it.”

“They’re weak. Take it.” Osk jerks his chin toward me. “Instead you sit here while they send a woman to soften you.”

The room goes still.

I set down my pen.

The king says, “Take your hand off the axe.”

Osk laughs.

Then he looks directly at me.

“Does he let you lead him by the horns too?”