After a moment, he laughed and turned back to Cress. “You won’t speak up for that slave?” he asked with forced blinking. Cress took a long drink from the goblet of spiked ice and citrus before him. “Mor can speak for himself, you fool. He has a mouth.” Bonswick’s smile grew. He nodded to the golden emblem with the wings of the North pinned to Mor’s chest. “Gold doesn’t belong on slaves. Especially enemy leeches. Give that to me.” Cress’s cold stare narrowed on the High Lord across the table. The Prince opened his mouth to intervene, but beside him, Mor said, “What’s worse than being feared and
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