Page 70 of Given to the Black King

“He was part of the future once,” she says. “Then fever took him.”

She gives me nothing else. I do not ask for what she has not offered.

I keep my hands gentle and listen.

When she is done, I tell her why I stood before Vessel’s gate before giving the order to break it.

“I count the cost,” I say. “Every man likely to die. Every house likely to burn. If I still choose the taking after the number is clear, I give the order.”

“Your soldiers thought you were praying.”

“They can keep thinking it.”

“It is close enough.”

“No.”

She leans back against my chest. “It is the closest thing you do.”

I let her have the last word because her cold foot is tucked between my calves and I have become weak.

At breakfast she wears a smoke-gray court dress from her traveling chest. It is not the soft laced dress I tore. This one buttons at the back and has a neckline cut wide enough to show the full bruise of my teeth on her shoulder.

The room notices.

Tam drops a spoon. Orrick does not, but only because Orrick could be stabbed without spilling tea.

Callas looks at the mark too long.

Calculation replaces surprise in his face.

A growl leaves me before I can stop it.

Wine trembles in his cup. Every voice at the table dies.

Iona turns toward me.

Her scent heats. Her pupils widen. Then she touches the mark with two fingers.

“His mark,” she says. “My choice.”

I force my claws back beneath the seams at my fingertips. “Yes. Your choice.”

She drags one finger slowly over the bruise while looking at me.

The spoon in my hand bends.

Ghenn removes it and replaces it with a wooden one.

“Preventive maintenance,” he says.

“Eat.”

He does.

The next treaty session runs through the morning. We fold Vessel’s grain terms into the treaty and settle the last dispute over winter supply. Iona argues every line while wearing my mark in full view of the table.

By midday, a rider reports that Osk has doubled the number of hired spears east of the pass.