Page 6 of Given to the Black King

Our horses carry us beneath the horns and into a courtyard full of armed men who barely glance up from their work. Our guards close around the gift wagons until an officer directs four of them toward the stables and two toward the south wing. A smith is shoeing a cavalry horse. Two soldiers drag a practice dummy back into place. Servants cross the yard with baskets of black bread.

No one gathers to stare at the doomed southern woman. That frightens me more than shouting would have.

A chamberlain in dark wool waits at the inner steps. He is thin, silver-haired, and entirely unimpressed by our existence.

“Minister Callas. Envoy.” His gaze rests on me for half a beat. “I am Orrick. Your rooms are prepared. His Majesty will receive you tomorrow at second bell.”

Callas dismounts too quickly and nearly loses his footing. I hand my reins to a groom.

The boy looks at the horse, then at me, then past my shoulder toward the high wall.

He freezes with my reins in his hand.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing, my lady.”

Another groom elbows him hard. I follow the direction of his first look. A figure stands on the wall above the gate.

Even at this distance, he is enormous. Horns sweep back from his brow. A black cloak moves around his legs in the wind. He does not wave or call down.

He only watches me.

Heat gathers under my collar. I cannot see his face clearly, but I know when his attention changes. His shoulders go rigid. One hand closes on the parapet.

The stone breaks beneath it. A piece chips free and falls into the yard. It strikes near the groom’s boot.

The boy jerks back.

Above us, the king turns and disappears from the wall. Callas has seen it too. “Inside.”

“I’m going.”

“Now, Iona.”

I look once more at the empty parapet.

Then I go inside.

Our rooms occupy the south wing. Warm carpets. Heavy curtains. A fire already burning. Two of our guards take the outer corridor while the other four remain with the horses and gifts. The door is thick enough for a cell, but the latch opens when I test it.

Perr watches. “Is that normal?”

“For a guest wing in a fortress?”

“Yes.”

“No idea.”

Callas closes the shutters. “We should rehearse tomorrow.”

“We have rehearsed for eleven days.”

“Then one more will not hurt you.”

I turn from the door. “Tell me exactly what a personal guarantee means.”

His mouth sets.