Rhys asks for the council room with the doors shut, and that alone tells me how bad this is going to be."No council," he says. "No record. Just you. And him, if you want him."I want him. Kade takes the chair beside mine, his left hand open on the table, palm up, the blood-oath scar pale in the lamplight. One of the twins turns under my ribs, and I press my fingers there until it settles."Talk," I say.Rhys does not sit. He stands at the map with his back to the border stones, and he looks suddenly older than exile ever made him."You keep calling it a visit," he says. "My winter in the North. My father's word for it. Visit. Guest. Let me correct the record before your children inherit the lie. I am not a guest in Soren's house. I am collateral."Kade goes still. "Your father sends his heir north for a season as surety.""For a grain debt," Rhys says. "The Hunger Winter, the first one. My father borrows northern grain and northern silence, and the price of both is me, in a carriage,
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