Colonel Williams took the carved, high-backed seat in the middle of the table, sparing Riot only a frosty glance of disapproval. He was followed by Captain Mercer, who still sported a bruised face and glared at Riot with undisguised hatred, and Ritta Kerne, who sat down wearing the smile of a woman who saw a joke that no one else had noticed.

Several dozen other officers wearing the uniforms of a dozen great and minor houses entered and took seats in the gallery, glaring down at Riot and muttering to each other. Likely more fools who had heard about the upstart sergeant who questioned their precious honor.

Williams banged the gavel down irritably, letting the chatter die down before he spoke. “Let’s get on with this,” he said, his tone grim. “What are the charges against Sergeant Riot?”

“Theft of a hedron from the arcanum of Volos,” Kerne said promptly.

“Being a jumped-up gutter snipe,” Captain Mercer added to a ripple of snobbish laughter from the gallery.

Williams smashed his hand on the table, and Mercer jumped slightly. “Damn it, Jack! The reputation of this regiment had been damaged enough by Sergeant Riot. I will not have my officers debase it any further.”

“My apologies, Colonel,” Mercer said, with a genteel inclination of his head.

“The charges for this court-martial have been brought by Ritta Kerne of the Wikkan. Penalty sought?” Williams asked, casting a dark glance at the witch.

“To be hung from the neck until dead,” Kerne answered swiftly.

“Nathaniel Riot, you are to be stripped of your rank and hung from the neck until dead. This court-martial is adjourned.”

Williams took up the small gavel once more and smashed it on the table, dropping it with a disgusted look on his face. Mercer slapped the table and gave a triumphant bark of satisfaction.

Riot knew what he had to do, but the words stuck in his throat: it was madness. They were already going to kill him, and he was going to ask them to add a side order of torture.

Kerne just watched him—a cat watching a mouse.

“I want to be leybound,” Riot said, his voice barely above a whisper, then he repeated the words in a stronger voice.

“What did he say?” Mercer demanded.

“I think he said he wants to be leybound,” Kerne said, her eyebrows furrowed, as if this was the first she was hearing about it.

“Is this true, Riot?” Williams asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Mercer scoffed while Williams expression hardened. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but there’s no way out of paying for your crimes. Making leybound costs money and a great deal of resources. You’re too old; the chances of survival are slim. Request denied.”

A confused buzz of conversation rose in the chamber. He should have left on the boat. Kerne would never have gotten away with hanging Perk and half a company of men. What was he thinking?

The door to the chamber slammed open, and a tall Erudoran man with a severe expression swept in, his long gray hair clasped at the nape of his neck with a wooden circlet. His entrance caused an explosion of noise from the gallery, and Williams slammed the gavel down repeatedly, shouting for order to be restored.

A feeling of dread swept over Riot. Kerne had betrayed him to the Erudorans. They would ship him off to that miserable island and make him pay for crimes that happened before he was even born. He tugged in vain at the chains, straining them against the metal ring set into the wooden floor.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Lord Roveran," Williams proclaimed, getting to his feet and greeting the newcomer with a stiff bow.

Mercer also stood and greeted Roveran with the barest inclination of his head, contempt twisting his features.

Riot stopped struggling; his hope shattered. If this really was Roveran Listor, then there was no escape. The first lord of Erudor had united an empire in a campaign of blood.

Roveran returned Williams bow with one of his own and cast a slow glance around at the now silent gallery. If a pin had dropped in that moment, the sound would have blown everyone’s eardrums out.

"This is a most unexpected surprise,” Williams said.

“Most surprises are unexpected, Colonel Williams, are they not?” Roveran replied in the clipped accent of the Erudoran nobility.

“My Lord.” Kerne stood and gave a businesslike nod.

“Is it done?” Roveran asked, directing his question at Kerne.

“The court martial is concluded, and sergeant Riot has made his request, though there is some objection related to the cost,” she replied.

Roveran turned and briefly appraised Riot. His gray beard was neatly trimmed to a point, and like most Erudorans, his eyes were light gray. But it was his hands that drew Riot's attention. They were covered in scars, every inch of them with silvery runes that had been cut into his skin in minute detail. They flowed up his wrist, and where they disappeared into his sleeve, Riot saw the end of the thick, scarred lines that he knew had been carved into his forearms.

Roveran was Leybound? It didn’t make sense; Leybound were criminals. Murderers, thieves, and convicts who chose an uncertain death with the arcanista rather than certain death on the gallows. They weren’t noblemen.

“Where is your uniform?” Roveran asked Riot.

“Lord Roveran, perhaps I can help you if you have a specific request; we have concluded this court-martial,” Williams said.

“Where is your uniform?” Roveran asked again, completely ignoring Williams.

“Taken, sir,” Riot said.

“He’s been charged with a grievous crime and stripped of his rank,” Mercer explained, in a tone of forced civility. “His actual crimes are more grievous than formally recorded; I assure you, he assaulted me.”

“Do you wish to be leybound?” Roveran asked Riot.

Roveran was leybound, but he spoke with the air of a general and commanded the obedience of a colonel of a regiment. He was nothing like Price, bitter and betrayed, or the other poor wretches in the prison, suspected and despised by officers and rank and file alike. He was powerful and respected. Riot caught Kerne watching him intently, and the wikkan gave a barely perceivable nod of her head.

“I really don’t see,” Williams began.

“Yes,” Riot replied, his mouth dry. “I want to be leybound.”

“I will sponsor sergeant Riot, supplying the elixirs required and an arcanist of my own choosing. I understand that under the current regulations, he will be transferred to the newly formed leybound company and retain his rank?”

Williams cast a dark look at Kerne and sat back down on his chair, his expression glacial. “The leybound company?”

“Yes, a folly, but one that I hope will bear fruit,” Roveran replied.

“Leybound criminals in the regiments? It’s madness!” Mercer cried, turning on Colonel Williams, his hands balled into fists. “Edgar, surely you can’t support this? We can’t let some foreigner come in here and dictate to us. This is our regiment, damn it; we bloody paid for it.”

“I must agree with Captain Mercer, My Lord; this is highly irregular; this is a matter for the Duke of Fallows regiment,” Williams explained.

“In the spring, Edgar, all regimental matters will fall under my purview; do you disagree?”

Williams mouth twisted as if he had eaten a rotten lemon. “Only if you can get your army here.”

“This is preposterous! He should be flogged, every inch of bloody skin flogged off of his bloody back!” Mercer declared.

For a moment, Mercer looked as though he might leap over the table and make good on his promise, but at a signal from Kerne, the two wikkan stepped forward to flank Riot.

“You’ll never find an arcanist to do it. I know people in the conservatory,” Mercer yelled as he limped out of the chamber.

“Kerne, have sergeant Riot escorted to the embassy,” Roveran said.

“Yes, Lord Roveran,” Kerne replied.

Roverans gray eyes briefly fixed on Riot, two light gray pools in which swam neither mercy nor empathy, then he strode out.

Williams slumped in his chair, glaring at Riot as the chamber erupted in animated conversation. “In a few hours, you’ll wish you’d chosen the noose,” he said, as Riot was hauled to his feet.