The Heart of Betrayal

by Mary E. Pearson

  I turned and left, and heard not a shuffle nor a whisper in my wake.

  It was the second time in less than an hour I had perpetrated a sham.

  Maybe.

  Because in a brief cold second, I saw every one of them hanging from a rope.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  I sat on a wooden bench near the servants’ stables, staring at a feather stirring on the ground, my feet and fingers numb, my thoughts jumping from rage to disbelief. Secrets at home, secrets in the caverns. Deceit knew no boundaries.

  Secrets. That was what I saw in Argyris’s startled eyes and felt pressing on my chest when I passed through the cavern. A dangerous secret.

  Movement in the distance caught my eye. He walked toward me.

  The ultimate betrayer.

  He stopped several feet away, noting that something was off. “Where are your escorts?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I’ve looked everywhere for you,” he said. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

  So it was.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  I studied Kaden, his eyes warm and searching. Kaden wanting a truce. Make everything better, like we were walking in a meadow after one of his drunken tirades. Kaden bringing me a basket of crabapple dumplings. Kaden holding me as I watched my brother die, saying how sorry he was. Kaden with his steady eyes. His deceptive calm. His devastating betrayal.

  He stared at my jiggling knee.

  It wasn’t I who had betrayed him.

  “Lia?” he said as if testing the waters. Lia, is it safe to approach you?

  “You knew,” I said. My knee bounced. My hands trembled. “All along you knew.”

  He took a cautious step forward. “What are you—”

  I flew at him, slapping at him, beating at him as he retreated, step after step, trying to dodge my blows. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know! All along you played games, telling me you were trying to save my life while you planned to exterminate every last person I love! Walther and Greta weren’t enough? Now it’s my other brothers? Berdi? Pauline? Gwyneth?” I stopped advancing on him and glared. “You want to kill every last person in Morrighan!”

  His shoulders pulled back. “You saw the army.”

  I returned his passionless stare. “I saw the army.”

  He was quiet for only a moment and then he lashed out, his hand sweeping the air as if that could dismiss my accusation. “What of it? Morrighan and Dalbreck have their armies too. Ours isn’t going to kill everyone. Only those who suppress us.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. Did he really believe that?

  “And I’m sure that includes your father, a highborn lord. He’s probably first on your list.”

  He didn’t answer, but his jaw clenched.

  “So that’s what it’s been about all along. Vengeance. You’re so consumed with hatred for your father that you want to kill every last breathing person in Morrighan.”

  “We’re marching on Morrighan, Lia. We’re removing those in power, and that includes my father, and yes, he may die.”

  “May?”

  “I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know what kind of fight we’ll face. With our numbers, they would be wise to lay down their arms, but if not, yes, he and many others will die.”

  “By your hand.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk about vengeance. Ever since Walther’s and Greta’s deaths, you’ve chased after revenge, telling me no matter what you did, it would never be enough. Your eyes glow with vengeance every time they fall on Malich.”

  “But I don’t plan on killing a whole kingdom to get it.”

  “It’s not going to happen that way. The Komizar and I have agreed that—”

  “You have an agreement with the Komizar?” I laughed. “How wonderful for you. Yes, we all have our agreements with him. The Chancellor, the emissary, me. He seems very good at striking agreements. You once ridiculed me for not knowing my own borders. I was shamed by that truth, but my ignorance pales in comparison with yours. I’m sure Berdi, Gwyneth, and Pauline would be so relieved to know that you have an agreement.”

  I spun and walked away.

  “Lia,” he called after me, “I promise you, I won’t let any harm come to Berdi, Pauline, and Gwyneth.”

  I paused. Without turning around, I accepted his promise with a single nod, then continued on my way, and though I wasn’t sure he could make any such claim, I held on to that small bit of hope. Even if Rafe and I didn’t make it, maybe Kaden would remember his promise to me.

  On my way back to my room, I made a side trip to the caverns. There. Sometimes it takes a while to understand the truth whispering at your back. It felt like old times, slipping into the Royal Scholar’s study. Only this time when I took something, I didn’t leave a note.

  And so Morrighan led the Remnant across the wilderness,

  Listening to the gods for the path of safety.

  And when at last they came to a place

  Where heavy fruit the size of fists hung from trees,

  Morrighan dropped to her knees, shedding tears,

  Giving thanks, and uttering remembrances,

  For all who were lost along the way,

  And Aldrid fell down beside her,

  Thanking the gods for Morrighan.

  —Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. V

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Once again I was alone and freezing, the fire in the gallery long turned to cold ash. I heard them calling outside, Jezelia. A story, Jezelia. The room grew pink with dusk.

  He had laid it all out quite clearly.

  It’s time now. You will say my words. See these things. Do these things.

  I would be his pawn.

  His army city swam in my vision and then Civica, destroyed, in ashes, the ruins of the citadelle rising like broken fangs on the horizon, plumes of smoke clouding the sky, my own mother a puddle in the midst of rubble, weeping, alone, and tearing her hair from her scalp. I blinked again and again, trying to make the images vanish.

  She’s coming.

  The words nestled full and warm beneath my ribs.

  I heard Aster’s footsteps. They had a weight I knew, a sound that danced with need and hope, a sound as ancient as the ruins around me. She’s coming. They are coming. But now there were more footsteps, urgent. Too many. My chest tightened, and I sat down on the hearth, looking at the floor, trying to discern where the sounds were coming from. The hall? The outside walkways? It seemed as if they surrounded me.

  “Miz? What are you doing in here? What happened to the fire? You’ll catch your death in here without your cloak.”

  I looked up, and the gallery was full. Aster stood just a few feet away, but behind her a hundred, a thousand milled, a city of another kind spread out. The gallery had no walls, no end, a never-ending horizon, thousands drawing close, watching, waiting, generations, and standing among them, only an arm’s length behind Aster, was Venda.

  “They’re waiting for you, Miz. Outside. Don’t you hear them?”

  My hair lifted from my shoulders; wind breezed through the gallery, swirling, tickling at my neck.

  Siarrah.

  Jezelia.

  Their voices rose, cutting through the wind, the lamentations of mothers, sisters, and daughters of generations past, the same voices I heard in the valley when I buried my brother, remembrances that rent distant heaven and bleeding earth. Prayers not woven of sounds alone but of stars and dust and evermore.

  Yes, I hear them.

  “Aster,” I whispered, “turn around and tell me what you see.”

  She did as I asked, then shook her head. “I see a mighty big floor in need of a stiff broom.” She stooped and picked up a scrap of red cloth left behind by the dressmakers. “And this here remnant.”

  She brought the scrap to me, placing the ragged threads in my hands.

  And then the gallery was a gallery again, the walls solid, the thousands gone. I held the fabric in my
fist.

  All ways belong to the world. What is magic but what we don’t yet understand?

  “You all right, Miz?”

  I stood. “Aster, would you fetch my cloak for me? The gallery terrace will give me a better view of the square.”

  “Not that wall, Miz.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s the wall they say”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“they say that’s the one the lady Venda fell from.” She looked around as if expecting to see her spirit lurking.

  This revelation made me hesitate, and I pushed open the door to the terrace. The hinges squealed with their own warning. The wall beyond was thick and low, just like any other in the Sanctum. “I won’t fall, Aster. I promise.”

  The beads on Aster’s scarf jingled as she nodded and then she raced out the door.

  * * *

  I wrapped my cloak snug about me as I settled on the wall. The gallery terrace was wide and jutted out over the square. I said my remembrances first.

  Lest we repeat history,

  the stories shall be passed

  from father to son, from mother to daughter,

  and to all my brothers and sisters of Venda,

  for with but one generation,

  history and truth are lost forever.

  Hear the stories of the faithful,

  The whispers of the universe,

  The truths that ride the wind.

  I sang of braveries and sorrows and hope, seeing without eyes, hearing without ears, the ways of trust and a language of knowing buried deep within them, a way as old as the universe itself. I told them of the things that last, the things that remain, and of a dragon that was waking.

  For we must not just be ready,

  for the enemy without,

  but also for the enemy within.

  And so shall it be,

  Sisters of my heart,

  Brothers of my soul,

  Family of my flesh,

  For evermore.

  A low evermore from the crowd rose up to meet me, and they began to disperse to the warmth of their homes. “And may the gods keep the wicked far from you,” I whispered to myself.

  I had gathered my cloak to get down from the wall when suddenly the breeze calmed. The world grew strangely silent, muffled, and white flakes began to fall from the sky. It dusted the parapets, the streets, and my lap with a sparkle of white as it floated down in lazy circles, magical. Snow. It was a soft, cool feather brushing my cheek, exactly as Aunt Bernette had described. As the gentle flakes fell into my outstretched palm, a heavy ache grew in my chest for home. Winter was here. It felt like a door was closing.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  KADEN

  I walked with the Komizar along the wall walk of Jagmor Tower. Malich, Griz, and two brethren, Jorik and Theron, trailed behind us. Now that the whole Council was present, our first official session would convene tomorrow, but the unofficial sessions had already begun. The Komizar had gathered the Rahtan together privately to make sure that tomorrow we sat next to the governors who were likely to balk. The Rahtan was his inner circle, the ten who never failed in our duty or wavered in our loyalty to one another and Venda. It wasn’t just duty; it was a way of life we all embraced, a belonging that never had to be doubted. Our footsteps, our thoughts, everything about us presented a unified force that made even the chievdars measure their words.

  Still, the vast army was taking its toll on the provinces. One more winter, the Komizar said, just one more to secure the plans, the supplies, and the weapons that the armories were fashioning and stockpiling. The Komizar and chievdars had calculated exactly what was needed. Losing two governors in one season spoke of discontent, though, and several of the other governors mumbled among themselves. The Rahtan was to split them up, calm their fears, remind them of the rewards to come, and if that didn’t sway them, remind them of the consequences. But the deciding game piece was Lia. She was a fresh strategy, one that caught their attention, an inroad to encourage the same populace the governors had to squeeze blood from to give just a little more. If the clans were soothed, so also were the governors, and they saw the targets on their own backs shrinking.

  The Komizar was bringing me back into the fold, and second chances were not his way. My mad attack on him was already diminished by my easy victory over the emissary—proof that I was Rahtan to the marrow and I followed his orders by reflex. No one mentioned my verbal attack on Lia, but I knew that was as much responsible as anything for the dismissal of my transgression, not just by the Komizar but my brethren as well. When troubles arose, the Assassin ultimately knew where his loyalties lay. The sound of our combined footsteps on the stone walk was a comforting rumble, purposeful and strong—and lately I’d had precious little comfort.

  As we approached Sanctum Tower, the Komizar spotted Lia sitting on the gallery wall.

  He grinned. “There’s my Siarrah now, just as I ordered. And look how the crowds in the square have grown.”

  I had already noted the size.

  “The numbers are twice those of yesterday,” Malich said warily.

  “The air is bitter, and yet they still come,” Griz added.

  The Komizar’s face set with satisfaction. “No doubt due to this evening’s vision.”

  “A vision?” I asked.

  “You think I’d let her spew her nonsense forever? Remembering long-dead people and forgotten storms? Not when we have our own magnificent storm brewing. Tonight she tells them of a vision of a battlefield where Venda is victorious. She tells them of a lifetime of spring and plenty to be gifted to the brave Vendans by the gods, making all their sacrifices worth it. That should ease the governors’ and the clans’ concerns.” He lifted his hand to the crowds and called out to them as if to take credit for this turn of fortune, but none turned his way.

  “They’re too far away to hear you,” Jorik said. “And a murmur grows among them.”

  The Komizar’s expression darkened, and his eyes scanned the mass of people, for the first time seeming to assess the vast numbers. “Yes,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “That must be it.”

  Jorik tried to soothe the Komizar’s ego further by adding that he couldn’t hear Lia’s words either, because of the distance.

  But I could hear her plainly—her voice carried on the air—and she wasn’t speaking of victories.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  I didn’t feel the pain right away. I stared at the floor, a blurry sideways view, my cheek still pressed to the stone, the stench of spilled ale rising up to me. Then I heard the Komizar yell for me to get up.

  It was mid-morning, and I had been taking a late breakfast in Sanctum Hall due to last-minute early morning fittings. Calantha and two guards were there with me when we heard sharp footsteps coming down the south corridor. The Komizar stormed in and ordered everyone else out.

  I tried to get my bearings, to focus on the tilting room.

  “Get up! Now!” he ordered.

  I pushed up from the floor, and that’s when the pain hit. My skull throbbed like a giant fist was crushing it. I forced myself to stand and steadied myself against the table. The Komizar was smiling. He stepped forward, gently touched the cheek he had just struck, then hit me again. I braced myself this time and only stumbled, but my neck felt as though it were snapping in two. I faced him, squaring my shoulders, and felt something warm and wet trickle on my cheek.

  “Good morning to you too, sher Komizar.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I feigned confusion.

  “I told you precisely what to say, and yet you told stories of dead sisters and dragons waking from sleep?”

  “They like to hear stories of their kingdom’s namesake. It’s what they wanted to hear,” I answered.

  He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him. His eyes danced with fury. “I don’t care what they want! I care about what they need to hear! I care about my orders to you! And
I don’t care if the gods themselves hand delivered their words to you in golden goblets! All your drivel about listening without ears, seeing without eyes doesn’t matter. The guards laughed out every word to me—but not one mention of battles and victory! That is what matters, Princess! That is all that matters.”

  “I beg your forgiveness, Komizar. I was carried away in the moment by the kindnesses of the people and their earnest desire for a story. I’ll be sure to tell yours next time.”

  He looked at me, his chest still heaving. He reached up and wiped my cheekbone, then rubbed the blood between his fingers.

  “You’ll tell Kaden you tripped on the stairs. Say it.”

  “I tripped on the stairs.”

  “That’s better, my little bird.” He rubbed the blood on his finger across my lower lip, and then bent to kiss me, pushing the salty taste of my own blood onto my tongue.

  * * *

  Calantha and the guard didn’t speak as they led me back to my room, but before she turned to leave, she paused to eye my face. A short while later, a basin of water with herbs floating on top was delivered to my room by a servant. The girl also brought a slice of soft, fleshy root. “For your face,” she said beneath lowered lashes and hurried away before I could ask who sent it, but I could guess it was Calantha. This offense had hit a little too close to home.

  I dipped a soft cloth in the water and dabbed it to my cheek to clean the wound. I winced at the sting. I had no mirror, but I could feel the bruise and the burning scrape from hitting the floor. I closed my eyes and held the soaked fabric to my skin. It was worth it. Every word I spoke was worth it. I couldn’t leave them without some kind of knowing of their own. I saw it in their faces, weighing my words and what they might mean. I had pushed as far as I dared, for not everyone in the square had come to hear what I had to say. Some were there to report it. I had seen the Sanctum guards and the quarterlords not only scrutinizing me, but also watching those who had gathered to listen.

  I picked up the piece of root the girl had brought and sniffed it. Thannis. Was there nothing this lowly weed couldn’t do? I held it to the wound and felt it soothe the throb.