Book 3: The Price of Independence

Hollis

Just after sunset, I drop into a thick, upholstered armchair in Father’s private sitting room as he finishes pouring two steaming mugs of mulled wine. The smells of clove and nutmeg make my mouth water.

He joins me, offers me one mug, and takes the other armchair in front of the leaping fire. I fold my hands around the clay gratefully. It’s a little too hot to hold, but after almost six fucking hours on the wall, even I’m cold. Father refuses to show any weakness, but I see the slight chatter in his teeth as he lifts his mug to his mouth.

Six hours down, twenty-four to go. There’s only one reason Soren would give us this much time—he’s preparing the perfect siege outside. To go against the terms he set would violate the rules of honorable warfare, and I know Father would rather die than do that, so we can only plan until the time runs out. Or so nearly runs out that anyone arguing we acted first wouldn’t have a shred of proof, a tried-and-tr