Chapter 7 · Vittal's Price

I slam the knife down on Vittal's desk hard enough to crack the wood. "Explain this."

He doesn't even look at it. That's the tell.

"Where'd you get that." Not a question. A stall.

"Out of a dead raider's kit bag, except he wasn't a raider." I lean in. "He was wearing your colors under his coat. And that—" I tap the hilt, the small notch cut into the pommel. "That's keep-forged. Yours. Third company issue. So one more time. Explain."

His jaw works. Fifty-one years old, hair more grey than not, hands that've held a sword since before I was born. Right now he looks like a man watching the floor open under him.

"Close the door," he says.

"No."

"Rhys." First time he's used my name without rank. "Close the door."

I kick it shut with my heel. Don't move from it.

"You want to accuse me of something," Vittal says, "say the word. Traitor. Say it to my face so I know exactly what I'm defending myself against."

"I'm not accusing you yet.