“I have an offer for you, Darin of Serra,” Nikla goes on. “If you’ve any sense, you’ll see that it’s more than fair. You wish to make Serric steel. Very well. Make Serric steel—for the Mariner army. We will provide you what you need, as well as accommodations for you and your sister—”
“No.” Darin’s gaze is fixed to the floor, and he shakes his head. “I won’t do it.”
Won’t, I note. Not can’t.