It was a dubious denial. Though all the men in the wagon were Knights Equitable, knights who were sworn by oath to destroy all Wolf Lords like Raj Ahten, and though such an oath was considered to override any other oath of fealty to a single lord, the truth was that Iome’s father served as patron to these knights—he’d supplied them with the money and arms needed to fulfill their quest to destroy Raj Ahten. For him to deny responsibility for their actions was like an archer refusing to take the blame for damage done by an arrow once it had left his bow.

Raj Ahten did not accept the King’s excuse. A grimace of pain crossed Raj Ahten’s face, and he looked away for a moment. Iome felt her heart lurch as she saw tears glisten in Raj Ahten’s eyes. “You have done me a great wrong,” Raj Ahten said. “Your assassins killed my Dedicates, slaughtered my own nephew, and executed some I considered to be dear friends, good servants.”

The tone of his voice filled Iome with guilt, overwhelming guilt. She felt like a child caught tormenting a kitten.

It pained her all the more because Iome saw that Raj Ahten’s sorrow seemed to be genuine. Raj Ahten had loved his Dedicates.

No, something in the back of her mind said, you must not believe that. He wants you to believe that. It is only a trick, a practiced use of Voice. He loves only the power his people give. Yet she found it difficult to cling to her skepticism.

“Let us go to your throne room,” Raj Ahten said. “You’ve given me no choice in the matter but to come settle our differences. It grieves me that we must discuss . . . terms of surrender.”

King Sylvarresta nodded, kept his head bent. Perspiration dotted his brow. Iome’s breathing came easier. They would talk. Only talk. She dared hope for leniency.

With a glance from Raj Ahten, his guards rode into the Dedicates’ Keep, leading his horse into the courtyard, while Raj Ahten headed down the road toward the King’s Keep.

Iome followed behind her father, numb. Her slippered feet did not like the rough paving stones. Chemoise stayed behind, following the wagon into the bailey of the Dedicates’ Keep, holding her father’s hand, whispering words of reassurance to Eremon Vottania Solette.

Iome, her father, and the three Days all followed Raj Ahten through the walled market, the richest street of Heredon, past the fine shops where silver and gems, china and fine cloth were sold, down to the King’s Tower.