The Heart of Betrayal

by Mary E. Pearson

  I felt myself drifting to something familiar, heard the swish of grass in the meadow, the gurgle of a river, caught the scent of meadow clover, felt the wind lift my hair, and then I heard a song, quiet and distant, as delicate as a midnight breeze. A voice I desperately needed to hear. Pauline. I heard Pauline saying remembrances. I lifted my voice with hers and sang the words from the Holy Text of the girl Morrighan as she crossed the wilderness.

  Another step, my sisters,

  My brothers,

  My love.

  The way is long, but we have each other.

  Another mile,

  Another tomorrow,

  The path is cruel, but we are strong.

  I pressed two fingers against my lips, held them there to make the moment stretch as wide as the universe, and lifted them to the heavens. “And so shall it be,” I said softly, “for evermore.”

  When I opened my eyes, I saw a small group gathered below me listening. Two of them were girls only a little younger than myself, and they searched the sky where I had set my prayers free, their expressions earnest. I looked up again too, scanning the heavens, and wondered if my words were already lost among the stars.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PAULINE

  Three days and two notes later, Gwyneth still hadn’t received a response from the Chancellor. She had convinced me that, while I didn’t like or trust either the Chancellor or the Royal Scholar after their treatment of Lia, that also made them the perfect ones for Gwyneth to seek out. They would be the most likely to have secrets about her and, more important, be interested in information about her. It was the unknown players that we had to worry about, and at the current moment, that included just about everyone.

  “What difference does it make who we can or can’t trust besides the king?”

  “Because someone tried to slit Lia’s throat when she was in Terravin.”

  I had sat there in disbelief when Gwyneth told me. Lia had explained the injury on her throat as a stumble down the stairs while she was carrying an armload of firewood. It grieved me, how much Lia had protected me from during those days just after Mikael had died. I was so wrapped up in my own misery, I hadn’t been there for her. This cast everything in a new light. Traitors were always brought back for trial, and certainly the king’s daughter above all would receive that small amount of justice. Someone wanted her dead without benefit of even a court hearing. I looked upon the whole court and cabinet now with new eyes.

  Gwyneth’s third note to the Chancellor, sent early this morning, was answered immediately with an agreement to meet midafternoon. In this note she said she had news of Princess Arabella.

  I sat in a dark corner of the pub where no one would notice me, though at this hour, the pub was empty except for two patrons on the far side of the room. My hood shadowed my face, and every last wisp of my blond hair was carefully tucked out of sight. I faced the door and slowly sipped a mug of warm broth. Gwyneth sat at a well-lit table in the middle of the room. I was only to reveal myself if she gave me a signal and we had to resort to our second plan—me confronting the Chancellor. I was certain she wouldn’t signal. She was dismayed that I had come along at all, but I would have it no other way. She accused me of not trusting her, and maybe the revelation that she had once been a spy did give me pause, but mostly I was afraid to let a single moment slip past when I might be able to help Lia.

  He came alone with no entourage or guard to escort him. I watched him approaching through the pub window and nodded to Gwyneth. She seemed not the least bit nervous, but I was coming to understand that Gwyneth was in many ways like Lia. She hid her fears beneath a practiced veneer of steel, but her fears were there, as sure and shaky as my hands trembling in my lap.

  He sauntered across the room and sat down across from Gwyneth. His cloak was plain, and he wore none of the usual finery on his fingers. For once, he didn’t want to be noticed. He settled in his chair and looked her over without saying a word. She did the same. I had a clear view of them both. The silence was long and awkward, and I held my breath waiting for one of them to speak, but neither seemed unsettled by the quiet. Finally the Chancellor spoke in a strangely familiar tone, making my skin prickle.

  “You look well,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “And the child?”

  Gwyneth’s lips pulled to a straight line. “Stillborn,” she answered.

  He nodded and leaned back in his chair, breathing out a long sigh, as if relieved. “Just as well.”

  Her coolness turned frigid, and a single brow arched upward. “Yes. For the best.”

  “It’s been years,” he said. “You suddenly have information again?”

  “I’m in need of funds.”

  “Let’s see if your information’s worth anything.”

  “Princess Arabella has been abducted.”

  He laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that. My sources say she’s dead. She met with an unfortunate accident.”

  The mug slipped in my hand, and broth sloshed onto the table. Gwyneth steeled her eyes to ignore me. “Then your sources are wrong,” she said. “She was taken prisoner by an assassin from Venda. He said he was taking her back to his kingdom, but for what purpose I don’t know.”

  “Everyone knows Venda doesn’t take prisoners. You’re slipping, Gwyneth. I think we’re done here.” He pushed away from the table and stood to leave.

  “I learned this firsthand from her attendant, Pauline,” Gwyneth quickly added. “She witnessed the abduction.”

  The Chancellor stopped mid-stride. “Pauline?” He sat down again. “Where is she?”

  I swallowed, dipping my head lower.

  “She’s in hiding,” Gwyneth said, “somewhere in the north country. A frightened little mouse she was, but she gave me the last of her coin to come here and plead for help for Princess Arabella. She told me to go to the Viceregent, but I came to you instead—since we have a history. I thought I might get a more favorable recompense from you. Pauline promised I’d get an ample reward for my troubles. I’m sure the king and queen desperately want the princess back, regardless of her indiscretion.”

  He stared at her, the same severe expression I saw him wear in my wanderings at the citadelle, but now it was intensified, as if he were calculating the veracity of every word Gwyneth uttered. He finally reached inside his cloak and threw a small bag onto the table. “I’ll speak with the king and queen. Don’t mention this to anyone else.”

  Gwyneth reached out and took the bag in her hand as if weighing it, then smiled. “You have my silence.”

  “It’s good to work with you again, Gwyneth. Where did you say you were staying?”

  “I didn’t.”

  He leaned forward. “I ask only because I might be able to help you with more comfortable accommodations. Like before.”

  “Very generous of you. Let me know what the king and queen have to say, and then we’ll discuss my accommodations.”

  She smiled, fluttered her lashes, tilted her head the way I had seen her do with countless tavern patrons and then, when he left, she sat back and a waxy sheen of sweat lit her face. She reached up and wiped damp strands of hair from her forehead.

  I walked over to her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, but clearly she was shaken. From the moment he’d mentioned the child, I had seen everything about Gwyneth grow tighter. “You had a baby with the Chancellor?” I asked.

  Fury swept through her eyes. “Stillborn,” she said sharply.

  “But, Gwyneth—”

  “Stillborn, I said! Leave it, Pauline.”

  She could say and pretend whatever she wanted, but I still knew the truth. She distrusted the Chancellor so much she wouldn’t even tell him about his own child.

  * * *

  A package arrived at the inn the next day. It wasn’t addressed to the messenger service but directly to Gwyneth at the inn. It held a larger bag of coins than the day before and a note.

  I’ve i
nquired of the parties you mentioned, and they have no interest in pursuing the matter. They both consider it best left as is, with a reminder that the city is still in mourning for Princess Greta and their concerns lie now with Crown Prince Walther, whose company of men has gone missing. This is for your troubles and discretion.

  The king and queen had turned their backs on their daughter? Best left as is? To be tortured and killed at the hands of barbarians? I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t believe they would abandon their own daughter, but then the word mourning struck me.

  I sat on the bed, my strength drained, and guilt overwhelmed me. Mourning I understood. In all my worry for Lia, I had almost forgotten about Greta and the tragedy that set Lia on the road back to Civica in the first place. Walther’s haunting expression loomed in front of me again, and the way he had looked as he huddled in the mud behind the icehouse. The horror in his eyes. He hadn’t seemed like Lia’s brother at all, but a shell of the man he had once been. At least I hadn’t seen Mikael killed right before my eyes. Lia had told me only that he died bravely in battle. Now I wondered if a soulless barbarian like Kaden had shot an arrow through his throat too. I cradled my stomach, feeling the grief again.

  “We need to leave,” Gwyneth said. “Immediately.”

  “No,” I argued. “I’m not leaving just because—”

  “Not Civica. This inn. This hamlet. The Chancellor figured out where I’m staying. He must have bribed the messenger. Now he’ll either be expecting me to be on my way, or paying me a visit for other favors. It won’t be long before he discovers you.”

  I didn’t argue. I’d heard his voice when he asked, Where is she? He hadn’t asked out of concern for my well-being.

  For when the Dragon strikes,

  It is without mercy,

  And his teeth sink in,

  With hungry delight.

  —Song of Venda

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Behind me, Aster, Yvet, and Zekiah laid out the clothes piece by piece. They told me not to look until they were ready. It was easy for me not to peek, because my mind was still occupied elsewhere. I couldn’t shake the heaviness in my chest.

  It seemed everyone and everything I encountered was laced with deception, from Rafe and Kaden, to the Chancellor and Royal Scholar—even my own mother—and in the Sanctum were strange men hidden away in the caverns who clearly didn’t belong here. Was anything what it seemed to be? I stared out my window, watching birds flying home to roost. The scaled stone armor of a monster settled into rest, and its jagged back was silhouetted against a darkening horizon. The grimness of night fell on an already grim city.

  There was a tug on my trousers, and Yvet told me to come look. I wiped my eyes and turned. Yvet scampered away to stand between Aster and Zekiah, all three straight-backed like proud soldiers. Aster’s grin faded. “What’s wrong, Miz? Your cheeks are all splotchy-flushy like.”

  Their faces stopped me, innocence and expectancy, smudges and bread crumbs, hunger and hope. There was at least something real and true to be found in this city.

  “Miz?”

  I pinched my cheeks and smiled. “I’m fine, Aster.”

  She raised her eyebrows and looked over toward the bed. My gaze jumped from bed, to barrel, to trunk, to chair.

  I shook my head. “This isn’t what I bought today.”

  “Sure it is! See right there on the chair. A shirt and trousers for riding, just like you asked.”

  “What about everything else? It’s too much. The few coins I gave—”

  Aster and Zekiah grabbed my hands and dragged me across the room to the bed. “Effiera, Maizel, Ursula, and a passel of others worked all day to have these ready for you.”

  A flutter swooped through my chest, and I reached down to touch one of the dresses. It wasn’t fancy, and wasn’t made of fine fabrics—if anything, just the opposite. It was stitched together with scraps, pieces of soft leathers dyed in the muted greens, reds, and deep browns of the forest, strips of fur, ragged edges hanging loose, some trailing to the floor. I swallowed. It was decidedly Vendan, but it was something else too.

  Aster giggled. “She likes it,” she said to the others.

  I nodded, still confused. “Yes, Aster,” I whispered. “Very much.” I knelt so I was level with Yvet and Zekiah. “But why?”

  Yvet’s pale eyes were wide and watery. “Effiera liked your name. She said anyone with a pretty name like that deserved pretty clothes.”

  Aster and Zekiah shot a worried glance over Yvet’s head.

  I narrowed my eyes at one, then the other. “And?”

  “Old Elder Haragru had a dream a long time ago when he still had a tooth right here,” Aster said, tugging on her front tooth, “and he hasn’t stopped wagging about it since. He’s not quite right in his head with all his piled-on years, but Effiera says he described someone like you, who would come from far away. Someone who should be wearing—”

  Zekiah reached behind Yvet and pinched Aster. She pulled her shoulders back, catching herself. “It’s only a story,” she said. “But Elder Haragru likes to tell it over and over. You know.” Aster knocked on her head and rolled her eyes.

  I stood and chewed on my lower lip. “I have no way of paying Effiera for all these clothes. I’ll have to send them back with you—”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. These can’t go back,” Aster said, working herself to a worry. “Effiera said they were a gift. That’s all. You don’t owe her nothing more than a kiss to the wind. And she’d be sorely hurt if you didn’t like them. Sorely hurt. They all worked real—”

  “Aster, stop. It’s not the clothes. They’re beautiful. But—” I looked at their faces plummeting from elation to disappointment, and I imagined Effiera’s and the other seamstresses’ faces doing the same if I refused them. I put my hands up in surrender. “Don’t worry. The clothes will stay.” Their grins returned.

  I looked at the display covering every free surface in the room. One by one, I lifted the garments, running my fingers along fabric and fur, chain and belt, stitch and hem. They weren’t only beautiful, they felt right, and I wasn’t even sure why. I turned back to the first one I had looked at, sewn from leather scraps. It had one long sleeve and the other shoulder and arm were left bare. “I’ll wear this one tonight,” I said.

  * * *

  Aster and Yvet helped me dress. Zekiah bashfully turned around and fiddled with Kaden’s wooden swords in the corner. Yvet ruffled the thin strips of trailing fur with her small hands while I attached my single tethered bone around my neck. Aster was just lacing up the back when the lock rattled. We all startled, waiting. The door swung open, and Calantha stepped in. The sword in Zekiah’s hand fell to the floor, and he scrambled to Aster’s side.

  Calantha’s single eye glided over me, from shoulder to floor.

  She eyed the children next. “Get out,” she said quietly. They darted past her and heaved the heavy door shut behind them.

  She explained that Kaden had sent her to bring me down to Sanctum Hall. She stepped closer, her hands on her hips, scrutinizing my attire. I lifted my chin, proudly wearing the dress Effiera had made. It fit snugly and perfectly, but Calantha looked at it with a disdainful air.

  “The Komizar will not be happy about this.” A hint of a smile lit her face.

  “And that pleases you? You’d like to see his hatred for me inflamed?”

  She walked over and touched the dress, rubbing the soft leather between her fingers. “Do you even know what you’re wearing, Princess?”

  The flutter returned to my chest. “A dress,” I said uncertainly. “A beautifully crafted dress, even if it’s made of scraps.”

  “It’s the dress of the oldest clan of Venda.” She looked at my exposed shoulder. “With a few modifications. It’s a great honor to be given the dress of many hands and households.” She looked around the room at the other clothes. “You’ve been welcomed by the clan of Meurasi. That’s sure to spark the wrath of many in the Council.”
>
  She sighed, the smile playing in her eye again, and gave me one last long look. “Yes, a great many,” she mused, and motioned to the door. “Ready?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  RAFE

  “Get your boots on, Emissary. The Komizar says I have to feed you.”

  The two of us, alone in my room at last, and my hands were free.

  It was a chance I had dreamed about every night as I crossed the Cam Lanteux. I stared at him, not moving. I could be upon him before he even had a chance to draw the weapon at his side.

  Kaden grinned. “Assuming you could even disarm me, would it be worth it? Think carefully. I’m all that stands between Lia and Malich and a hundred more like him. Don’t forget where you are.”

  “You seem to have a low regard for your countrymen.” I shrugged. “But then, so do I.”

  He ambled closer. “Malich is a good soldier, but he tends to hold grudges when someone gets the best of him. Especially someone half his size. So if you care about—”

  I grabbed my boots and sat down. “I have no interest in the girl.”

  A puff of air shook his chest. “Sure you don’t.” He walked to the table and picked up the goblet that Lia had sipped from earlier. He ran his thumb along the smudged rim, eyed me, then set it back down. “If you have no interest, then we have no score to settle, right? You’re only here minding the affairs of your prince.”

  I jerked at the leather pulls of my boot. It was hard to believe we had bunked in the same barn for half the summer. How we had managed not to kill each other then I didn’t know, because there had always been tension between us, even from our first handshake at the water pump. Follow your gut, Sven always told me. How I wished I had. Instead of cutting in on a dance I should have cut his—

  “Chimentra. It’s a word you might find useful,” he said. “There’s nothing like it in the Morrighese or Dalbretch languages. Your languages are essentially the same, one kingdom sprang from the other. Our kingdom had to struggle for everything we have, sometimes even our words. It comes from Lady Venda and a story she told of a creature with two mouths but no ears. One mouth can’t hear what the other says, and it’s soon strangled in the trail of its own lies.”