He cast an awkward glance at my hand clutching a fistful of fabric at my chest. “Don’t do anything foolish, Lia,” he said. “Come to the table when you’re finished.”
I nodded and he reluctantly left.
I bent down and ripped at the hemline, making a tear up to my knees, then tied the excess fabric up into a knot. I did the same at my neck, tying a smaller knot at my chest so my shoulders would remain covered. Hopefully the Komizar wouldn’t consider knots a luxury too.
Dignity. My skin chafed under the coarse fabric. My toes ached with chill. I was dizzy with hunger. I didn’t care a whit about dignity. That had been taken from me long ago. But I did need a clear, unfettered moment. That much wasn’t a lie. Was such a thing possible here?
The gift is a delicate way of knowing. It’s how the few remaining Ancients survived. Learn to be still and know.
Dihara’s words swept through me. I had to find that place of stillness somehow. I leaned back against the pillar, hunting for the quiet I had found in the meadow. I closed my eyes. But peace was impossible to come by. What good was a gift if you couldn’t summon it at will? I didn’t need a quiet knowing. I needed something sharp and lethal.
My thoughts tumbled, angry and bitter, an avalanche of memory past and present, trying to find blame, to spread it around to every guilty party. I conjured a sip of poison for each one who had pushed me here, the Chancellor, the Scholar—even my own mother, who had knowingly suppressed my gift. Because of them I had suffered years of guilt for never being enough.
I opened my eyes, shivering, staring at the stained stone wall in front of me, unable to move. I was thousands of miles from who I was and who I wanted to be. My back pressed closer to the pillar, and I thought that maybe it was all that held me up—and then I felt something. A thrum. A pulse. Something running through the stone, delicate and distant. It reached into my spine, warming it, strumming, repetitive. Like a song. I pressed my hands flat against the stone, trying to absorb the faint beat, and heat spread to my chest, down to my arms, my feet. The song slowly faded, but the warmth stayed.
I stepped out from behind the pillar, vaguely aware of heads turning, whispers, someone shouting, but I was hypnotized by a thin, hazy figure on the far side of the hall, hidden in the shadows, waiting. Waiting for me. I squinted, trying to see the face, but none materialized.
A strong jerk pulling me to the side broke my attention, and when I looked back, the figure across the hall was gone. I blinked. Ulrix pushed me toward the table. “The Komizar said to sit down!”
Governors and servants alike were watching me. Some scowled, a few whispered to each other, and I saw some reach up and rub amulets strung around their necks. My eyes traveled the length of the table until they stopped at the Komizar. Not surprisingly, he looked at me with a grave warning plastered across his face. Do not test me. Had I caught their attention with a simple unfocused stare? Or when I squinted to see someone hiding in the shadows? Whatever I did, it didn’t take much. The Komizar may have had zero regard for the gift, but at least a few of them were hungry for it, looking for any small sign.
The regard of a few bolstered me. I proceeded forward, leisurely, as if my torn sackcloth dress were a regal gown, lifting my chin and imagining Reena and Natiya beside me. My eyes swept one side of the table and then the other, trying to look directly into the eyes of as many of those present as I could. Searching them. Bringing them to my side. The Dragon wasn’t the only one who could steal things. For the moment, I had the audience he so greatly treasured, but as I passed him to take my seat, I felt my chill return. He was the stealer of warmth as well as dreams, and I felt an icy sting at my neck, as if he knew the purpose of every move I made and had already calculated a countermove. The force of his presence was something solid and ancient, something twisted and determined, older than the Sanctum walls that surrounded us. He hadn’t gotten to be the Komizar without reason.
I took the only empty seat left, one next to Kaden, and instantly knew it was the worst place to sit. Rafe sat directly across from me. His eyes were immediately upon me, cutting cobalt, bright against the grim, full of worry and anger, searching me, when all he should have done was look away. I gave him one pleading glance, hoping he understood, and I averted my gaze, praying to the gods that the Komizar hadn’t seen.
Calantha sat next to Rafe, her baubled blue eye staring at me, her other milky blue eye scanning the table. She lifted the plate of bones, skulls, and teeth that had been set in front of her and sang out in Vendan. Some of the words I had never heard before.
“E cristav unter quiannad.”
A hum. A pause. “Meunter ijotande.”
She lifted the bones high over her head. “Yaveen hal an ziadre.”
She laid the platter back on the table and added softly, “Paviamma.”
And then, surprisingly, all the brethren responded in kind, and a solemn paviamma was echoed back to her.
Meunter. Never. Ziadre. Live. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but the tone had turned grave. A chant of some sort. It seemed to be said by rote. Was it the beginning of a dark barbaric ritual? All the frightening stories I had heard about barbarians as a child came flooding back to me. What were they going to do next?
I leaned close to Kaden and whispered, “What is this?” Calantha passed the platter down the table, and the brethren reached to take a bone or a skull.
“Only an acknowledgment of sacrifice,” Kaden whispered back. “The bones are a reminder that every meal is a gift that came at cost to some creature. It is not taken without gratitude.”
A remembrance? I watched as the platter was passed and fearsome warriors reached into the pile and attached bleached fragments to the slitted tethers at their sides. Every meal is a gift. I shook my head, trying to dispel the discord, to erase an explanation that didn’t quite fit the space I had already created for it. I recalled the gaunt faces that had looked into mine as I passed through the city gates and the fear I had felt at hearing the bones rattle at their sides. My first impressions had planted dark thoughts of bloodthirsty barbarians showing off their savagery.
I didn’t realize I was scowling until I saw the Komizar staring at me with a smug grin twisting his mouth. My ignorance was exposed, at least to him, but I had also caught his subtle observance of Kaden. A slow, casual perusal. It still ate at him. Kaden had followed my orders and not the Komizar’s.
When the platter of bones was passed around me to a governor, I reached out and grabbed a bone. It was a piece of jaw with a tooth still anchored in it, boiled clean of every scrap of flesh. I felt Rafe watching me, but I was careful not to look his way. I stood and pulled a raveled string from my hem, then tied the bone and tooth around my neck.
“Can you recite the words too, Princess Arabella,” the Komizar called out, “or are you only good at creating a show?” An invitation to speak to them in their own tongue? He had unwittingly played into my strength. I might not have known what every word meant, but I could repeat every one. A few would do. “Meunter ijotande. Enade nay, sher Komizar, te mias wei etor azen urato chokabre.”
I spoke it flawlessly and, I was certain, with no hint of an accent. The room fell quiet.
Rafe stared at me, his mouth slightly open. I wasn’t sure if he understood or not, but then Calantha leaned close to him whispering the essence of the words: You’re not, dear Komizar, the only one who has known hunger. The Komizar shot her a condemning glance to silence her.
I looked at the long line of brethren that included Griz, Eben, Finch, and Malich. Their mouths, like Rafe’s, hung open. I turned back to the Komizar. “And if you’re going to address me with ridicule,” I added, “I’ll ask that you at least address me correctly. Jezelia. My name is Jezelia.”
I waited, hoping for a reaction to my name, but there was none—not from the Komizar or anyone else. My bravado plummeted. None of them had recognized it. I lowered my gaze and sat down.
“Ah, I forgot, you royals are rich enough to h
ave many names, just like winter coats. Jezelia! Well, Jezelia it is,” the Komizar said, and lifted a mocking toast to me. Laughter rolled off tongues that only seconds ago I had silenced. Jests and more mocking toasts followed. He was accomplished at twisting moments to his purpose. He left everyone thinking about the excesses of royals, including their many names.
The meal began, and Kaden encouraged me to eat. I forced down a few bites, knowing that somewhere deep inside, I was starving, but so much already swirled in my belly, it was hard to feel the hunger anymore. The Komizar ordered Rafe’s hands unchained so he could eat and then waxed eloquent on how the other kingdoms were finally taking proper notice of Venda, even sending royalty and their esteemed cabinet to dine with them. Though his tone was flippant and drew the laughter he sought, I saw him lean toward Rafe more than once and ask about the Dalbreck court. Rafe chose his words carefully. I found myself watching, mesmerized, noticing how he could go from shackled prisoner to shining emissary in a heartbeat.
Then I noticed Calantha lean in, pouring him more ale, even though he didn’t ask for more. Was she trying to loosen his lips? Or was she attentive for other reasons? She was beautiful, in an unsettling way. An otherworldly way. Her colorless hair fell in long waves past her bare shoulders. Nothing about her seemed natural, including her long, slender fingers and painted nails. I wondered what position she held here at the Sanctum. There were other women in the hall, a few seated next to soldiers, many of the servants—and the slight figure I had seen in the shadows—that is, if it was a woman. But Calantha possessed a boldness, from her bright eye patch down to the delicate chains that jingled around her waist.
I was stunned to see Rafe smiling and playing up the role of the jaded emissary who only sought the best deal for himself. The Komizar soaked it up, even if he tried to maintain distance. Rafe knew just which words to drop and when to hold back with a measure of vagueness, keeping the Komizar’s curiosity piqued. I wondered how the farmer I had fallen in love with could have so many sides I hadn’t known. I watched his lips move, the faint lines fanning out from his eyes when he smiled, the breadth of his shoulders. A prince. How had I not even suspected? I recalled the scowl on his face that first night I had served him at the tavern—the bite of every word he spoke to me. I had left him at the altar. How angry he must have been to track me down all the way to the tavern—which meant he was also skilled. There was so much I still didn’t know about him.
I glanced at the Komizar, who had fallen quiet, and found his eyes fixed on me. I swallowed. How long had he been watching me? Had he seen me staring at Rafe?
He suddenly yawned, then leisurely slid his hand across the leather strap on his chest. “I’m sure our guests are getting tired, but where should I put them?” He explained at length that since they didn’t take prisoners in Venda, they didn’t have actual prisons, that justice was swift even for their own citizens. He weighed his various options, but I sensed he was leading us down a path he had already mapped. He said he could shove us both back into the holding room for the night, but it was damp and dreary, and there was only one small straw mattress for us to share. He looked at Kaden as he said it. “But there is an empty room not far from my own quarters that’s secure.” He sat back in his chair. “Yes,” he said slowly, as if thinking it through, “I’ll put the emissary there. But where should I put the princess where she’ll be secure too?”
Malich called from the other end of the table. “She can stay with me. She won’t go anywhere, and we still have a few things to discuss.” The soldiers near him laughed.
Kaden pushed his chair back and stood, glaring at Malich. “She’ll stay in my quarters,” he said firmly.
The Komizar smiled. I didn’t like where this game was leading. He rubbed his chin. “Or I could simply lock her up with the emissary? Maybe that would be best. Keep the prisoners together? Tell me, Jezelia, which would you prefer? I’ll leave it up to you.” His eyes rested on me, cold and challenging. Had my glares at the emissary been real or contrived? There’s always more that can be taken. He was looking for something else I valued besides a rope around my waist.
My hands trembled in my lap beneath the table. I squeezed them into fists and straightened them again, forcing them to comply, to be convincing. I pushed back my chair and stood next to Kaden. I lifted my palm to his cheek, then drew his face to mine, kissing him long and passionately. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer. The room erupted into hoots and whistles. I slowly pulled away, looking into Kaden’s surprised eyes.
“I’ve grown comfortable with the Assassin after the long ride across the Cam Lanteux,” I said to the Komizar. “I’ll stay with him, rather than that treacherous parasite.” I shot Rafe one last glare. He returned it with a glance of cool rage. But he was alive. For now, he was something not worth taking from me.
CHAPTER TEN
Kaden’s room was at the end of a long dark hall. It had a small door with wide hinges frosted in rust and a lock in the shape of a boar’s mouth. It didn’t budge when he tried to push it open, as though the wood was swollen with the dampness, so he put his shoulder into it. It gave and swung open, banging into the wall. He held out his hand for me to go in first. I stepped in, hardly seeing the surroundings, only hearing the weighty thunk of the door closing behind us. I heard Kaden step closer and felt the heat of his body close behind me. The taste of his mouth was still fresh on my lips.
“This is it,” he said simply, and I was grateful for the distraction. I looked around, finally taking in the expanse of the room.
“It’s bigger than I expected,” I said.
“A tower room,” he answered, as if that explained it, but the room was large, and the outer wall curved, so maybe it did. I walked farther inside, stepping onto a black fur rug, my bare feet finally getting some relief from the cold floor. I wiggled my toes deep into the soft fleece and then my eyes landed on a bed. A very small one shoved up against the wall. I noticed that everything, in fact, was shoved up against the wall in a dull, orderly procession the way a soldier who only cared about practicality might arrange things. Next to the bed was a wooden barrel piled with folded blankets, a large trunk, a cold hearth, an empty fuel bin, a chest, and a water basin, followed by a line of mismatched trappings leaning against the wall side by side—a broom, wooden practice swords, three iron rods, a tall candlestick, and the very beleaguered boots he had worn across the Cam Lanteux, still caked with mud. Hanging overhead was a crude wooden chandelier, the oil in its lanterns aged to a deep tawny yellow. But then I saw details that didn’t fit a soldier’s quarters, their smallness suddenly larger than the room itself.
Several books were stacked beneath his bed. More proof that he had lied about not reading. But it was the trinkets that made my throat swell. On the other side of the room, bits of blue and green colored glass strung on braided leather hung from a beam. Tucked in the corner was a chair, and lying in front of it was a chunky rug woven of colorful rags and uncarded wool. The gifts of the world. They come in many colors and strengths. Dihara’s rug. And then, lying in a shallow basket on the floor, were ribbons, a dozen at least of every color, painted with suns and stars and crescent moons. I walked closer and lifted one, letting the purple silk trail through my palm. I blinked back the sting in my eyes.
“They always sent me off with something when I left,” Kaden explained.
But not this last time. Only a curse from sweet, gentle Natiya, hoping that my horse would kick stones in his teeth. He would never be welcome in the vagabond camp again.
Dread swept over me. Something loomed, even for the vagabonds. I had seen it in Dihara’s eyes and felt it in the tremble of her hand on my cheek when she said good-bye. Turn your ear to the wind. Stand strong. Did she hear something whisper through the valley? I sensed it now, something creeping through the floors and walls, reaching up through pillars. An ending. Or maybe I was feeling my own mortality drawing near.
I heard Kaden’s footsteps behind me and then felt
his hands on my waist. They slowly circled around, pulling me to him.
I drew in a sharp breath.
His lips brushed my shoulder. “Lia, finally we can…”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t do this. I stepped away and whirled to face him.
He was smiling. His brows raised. A full, indulgent grin. He knew.
Guilt and anger stabbed me at the same time. I spun and walked to the trunk, throwing it open. The closest thing to a nightgown I could find was one of his oversized shirts. I snatched it out and turned. “And I’ll take the bed!” I threw one of the folded blankets at him.
He caught it, laughing. “Don’t be angry with me, Lia. Remember, I know the difference between a real kiss from you and one given only for the Komizar’s benefit.”
A real kiss. I couldn’t deny what our first kiss had been.
He dropped the blanket onto the rug. “Our kiss in the meadow set the bar high, though I admit I’ll always treasure this contrived one too.” He reached up and touched the corner of his mouth, teasing, as if he was savoring the memory.
I looked at him, his eyes still lit with mischief, and something tugged inside me. I saw someone who, for a moment, forgot that he was the Assassin, the one who had dragged me here.
“Why did you play along?” I asked.
His smile faded. “It’s been a long day. A hard day. I wanted to give you time. And maybe I hoped I wasn’t just the lesser evil of your options.”
He was perceptive, but not perceptive enough.
He pointed to the trunk. “If you dig a little deeper, you’ll find some woolen socks too.”
I dug to the bottom and found three pairs of long gray socks. He turned around for me, and I threw off the dress from hell that was lined with a thousand burrs. His shirt was warm and soft and fell to my knees, and his socks came up just past them.
The Heart of Betrayal Page 5