Now the anger came. Josiri clenched his fists and strove to control it. Unfocused anger had almost destroyed him this past week. He couldn’t give in to it now. “You know it isn’t.”

“We have to earn the Empire’s support.” Crovan’s tone grew pleading. “We need only show willingness to fight. Might be we can even bring a little mercy along the way.”

Anastacia snorted. [[Killing the wounded to spare their accusations?]]

Gavamor’s head sank lower. Drenn scowled. Crovan stared at Anastacia, his expression caught between suspicion and resentment.

Josiri shook his head. “And what happens next time?”

Crovan frowned. “Next time?”

“When taxes go unpaid.” Josiri let his voice carry through the trees.

“When there’s trouble on the Ithna’jîm border, and the emperor wants to shed your blood in his wars. What then, but more threats to keep you in line?”

Agreement rippled beneath the trees, louder than before.

“And what do you offer?” demanded Crovan.

Josiri strode closer until he stood nose to nose with the would-be Wolf King. “I offer nothing. I promise nothing. This is simply how it’s going to be. The Southshires need us. Our comrades need us. We’re not going to let them down.”

Crovan laughed. Not with mockery, but with the bitter tone of a man who saw a tragic joke while all about him remained blind. “And if I refuse?”

“I’m not talking to you, Drakos.”

The Wolf King’s lips hooked into a snarl. “Fine. Drenn? Lock his grace up. He’ll go to the Hadari. That should save a few lives.”

She showed no sign of moving. Expressionless for a moment, her lips curled slowly into a scowl. “He’s right, Crovan. We give Haldrane what he wants, we’ll never be free.”

Crovan pressed a hand to his head. “And you, Nials?”

Gavamor rose, quiet determination in his eyes. “Reckon I’m with them.”

“I didn’t want this.” Crovan shook his head. “I didn’t.”

He struck the longbow from Drenn’s hand and pinned her against a tree. Cries rang out around the hollow as wolves and brigands went for their swords. Josiri started forward. He checked his advance as steel gleamed in Crovan’s hand.

“I’ll gut you for this, Drakos,” hissed Drenn.

“You’ll thank me.” A faraway look entered his eyes. “This is all for the best, so tell your scoundrels to put their weapons down. And as for you, your grace, you’ll go quietly into confinement, or Vorn will slit your lady-friend’s throat.”

Josiri turned. Vorn stood behind Anastacia, an arm across her throat and a dagger ready in his hand. She stood perfectly, unflinchingly still.

Could steel even hurt Anastacia? Josiri wished he’d thought to ask. She didn’t look fearful, but the transformation had only made her mood harder to read. “Are you all right, love?”