Cain moved first.
He crossed the great hall without a sound twenty years of hunting in the rogue territories in every step and he had Roan slammed against the stone wall beside the war table with a forearm across his throat before the scarred enforcer could reach for a weapon.
"Talk," Cain said. Soft. The softest I'd ever heard him, which meant the most dangerous. "You're standing over the coalition's muster points at the dead hour. Twenty years, Roan. Twenty years I've trusted you with my life. Tell me I'm wrong about what I'm looking at. The bond will know if you lie."
But Roan wasn't bonded to Cain. The Founding Moon's truth-law didn't reach this lodge. There was nothing here to catch a lie but two decades of brotherhood and the look on a man's face.
And the look on Roan's face wasn
