Page 52 of Given to the Black King

His claws come out against the throne arm.

After law-day, I wait in the treaty room with the Vessel accounts spread across my place.

Callas enters, sees the columns, and groans. “Not today.”

“Today.”

“Iona, you just watched him execute a man.”

“Yes.”

“And your response is to argue about grain prices?”

“My response is to make certain fewer people die.”

Torgan comes in with Ghenn behind him. Cold air follows them through the door. The smell of sand and iron still clings to the hall beyond.

He sees the accounts.

“No.”

I point to his chair. “Sit down.”

The room goes silent. Callas stops halfway to the sideboard. Perr’s pen hovers above a blank page.

One black claw slides out beneath Torgan’s forefinger. It clicks once against the table.

“Was that an order?”

“A request made without patience.”

Ghenn pulls out his chair. “I heard a request.”

Torgan sits. The chair gives a small complaint under his weight.

I begin before he can refuse again.

“Vessel keeps the tribute. Your wagons sell grain at carriage cost, not the conquest price. Families with children receive fixed rations through the garrison kitchens.”

“No.”

I slide the ration count toward him. “You have not seen the rest.”

“I heard enough.”

“Then listen better.”

Callas closes his eyes. Ghenn reaches for the labor figures instead of looking at either of us.

“One third of the tribute can be worked off repairing the north road and cutting the spring irrigation channel,” I say. “Seed grain is lent without interest for one year. Vessel submits quarterly accounts to your auditors.”

Torgan does not touch the page. His claw rests beside the total. “The current terms repay me faster.”

“For one winter.”

“They broke oath.”

“The lord broke oath. He is dead.”