The dining room was lit with scores of candles, the table set with a snowy white tablecloth and more eating implements than one person could use in a dozen meals. Kiam would have bet all his former stepbrother’s vast wealth that the cutlery was entirely for Rakaia’s benefit. Valorian didn’t strike him as a man who stood on ceremony too much when his wife was away and he wasn’t entertaining royal visitors.
He looked up as the door at the end of the hall opened, expecting Valorian, however the small figure that pushed the heavy, banded-oak door open wore a diaphanous lavender skirt with a matching bodice. As she neared him, the jewel in her exposed navel caught the light, although he couldn’t tell what she looked like, as a sheer veil covered most of her face. It was a Fardohnyan fancy, this idea that if a woman covered her mouth in public, nobody would think it the least immodest if she exposed every inch of her flesh from just below her breast to just below her navel.
She was alone as she stepped into the room. The princess looked about uncertainly for a moment, not noticing Kiam by the fire at the other end of the hall. When she spied him, she squared her shoulders, almost as if she were bracing herself to meet him, and began to walk forward.
Broos lifted his head and growled softly in the back of his throat. “Down, boy,” Kiam ordered in a low voice. “Not going to help either of us if you eat one of the king of Fardohnya’s daughters.”
The dog sat up, looking up at him expectantly. Kiam turned his attention to the princess, figuring the only polite thing to do was meet her halfway. Kiam stepped forward, but she held up her hand to halt his approach.
What? Am I not permitted to grubby her royal presence with my proximity?
“Please, don’t leave the fire,” the princess said as she approached in almost perfect Hythrun. “It’s freezing in here. I’d not have anybody turned into an icicle on my account.”
Kiam wasn’t expecting that. He bowed as she approached and accepted her hand, kissing her palm in the traditional Fardohnyan manner. Her hand was small and calloused, as if she had ridden too often without gloves, the skin was rough and her nails unmanicured—something else he did not expect in a Fardohnyan princess.
“Your highness. Welcome to Hythria.”
Rakaia lowered her veil and smiled at him. She was quite gorgeous. Not unexpectedly—all Hablet’s wives were great beauties. This daughter was stunning; a dusky beauty with kohl-lined eyes the color of sapphires, long dark lashes, and lips so full and ripe Kiam could imagine himself gladly selling his soul to get a taste of them. Oh, you are going to cause a riot when you make your first appearance in Greenharbour.
Adrina was right to be worried.
“You are too young to be Lord Lionsclaw,” she said as she took his measure. She spoke Hythrun flawlessly, but with just enough of an accent to make it endearing. “Which makes you one of his younger brothers, I’m guessing?”
“Actually, I’m not a Lionsclaw at all, your highness. My name is Kiam Miar. Your sister, the High Princess Adrina, sent me to escort you to Greenharbour.”
She seemed a little puzzled for a moment and then recognition dawned on her and she snatched her hand from his, glancing at the silver raven ring he wore on his left hand. “Oh . . . you’re the assassin.”
Stuck-up little bitch. Apparently his common-born status wasn’t good enough to escort someone as exalted as a princess. Or maybe it was his occupation. He forgot, sometimes, that people assumed his profession as an assassin made him a heartless, cold-blooded killer. “I am the High Prince’s stepbrother, your highness.”
The princess seemed unaccountably relieved. “I’m sorry . . . It’s just . . . we hear stories in Talabar about Adrina and how she’s become so . . . Hythrun . . . these days. I just wondered . . . Is that your dog? He’s gorgeous!”
Broos seemed to have a change of heart about this newcomer. He padded over to her, wagging his tail. His head came up to her waist, but she seemed unafraid. In fact, she appeared quite enchanted by him. “Can I pat him?”
“If you’re prepared to risk being his dinner.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t hurt me. Would you, gorgeous?” She took off her veil and tossed it over the nearest chair, as if she knew it might confuse and frighten the dog, and then held out her hand.
Rather than take her arm off at the elbow, Broos surprised Kiam by licking the princess’s hand gently and then sidling up to her for a pat. With the veil off and her attention on the dog, he had a chance to study her more closely. She looked nothing like Adrina, who—with her green eyes and dark hair—embodied the ideal of exotic Fardohnyan beauty. Her younger sister was much smaller boned and finer featured, with sapphire blue eyes—unusual in a Fardohnyan—and luscious, light, honey brown hair. With her attention on Broos, Rakaia had momentarily dropped all pretense of arrogance or aloofness. This, Kiam guessed, was a rare glimpse of the girl behind the princess.
“What’s his name?”
“Broos.”
She rubbed his head, and Broos lapped it up like a harem lap dog. “Hello, Broos. You’re just the friendliest old thing in the world, aren’t you?”
“I doubt the stable boy who tried to convince him he should sleep in the stables would agree with you,” Kiam said with a laugh. “You have a real way with animals.”
“Comes from a lifetime of—” She stopped abruptly, as if she’d changed her mind about what she wanted to say. Then the sweet girl was gone and the princess was back, suddenly unsure of herself. “I mean . . . it’s just . . . well, Adrina didn’t send you here to kill me, did she?”
“No.”
“I didn’t mean to imply . . .”
“You have nothing to fear from your sister, your highness,” he assured her. “Quite the contrary. The High Princess is looking forward to your visit. She so rarely gets to see any of her sisters. She gave me very specific instructions about delivering you safely to Greenharbour.”
Actually, Adrina had told him: Get her here in one piece, Ky, as fast as you can. Don’t let her distract you, flirt with you, or flirt with anybody else along the way. Truth is, I’m sending you to fetch her because you occupy a unique position here—you’re a member of the Wolfblade family but you’re not high-born, so she’s less likely to consider you a prospect. I’m pretty sure she won’t be too thrilled about the man she has to marry, and I don’t want her trying to make alternative arrangements. Make sure the Raiders you take are all common-born too, so she doesn’t get any ideas about one of them.
Adrina had turned to him then, looking deeply anxious. And for the gods’ sake, get to Winternest before she has a chance to spend any time alone with Valorian Lionsclaw. I don’t want to be the one to break it to the Warlord of Sunrise Province that her son and heir has been amusing himself with a Fardohnyan.
Adrina’s concerns were not unfounded, Kiam decided. This girl could probably melt the stoutest heart if she set her mind to it.
“That’s a relief to hear, my lor—What do I call you?”
“Master Miar is the acceptable form of address in Hythria for commoners, your highness.” Then he added, before he could stop himself. “Or you could call me Ky.”
Rakaia smiled at him. Oh, this is going to be an interesting trip.
“Do we know each other well enough yet for first names, Master Miar?”
He bowed formally. She’d been here less than five minutes and he was already falling under her spell. “Of course, you’re right, your highness. Forgive me for being so forward.”
“Ah! There you are!” Valorian announced as he strode through the door at the other end of the hall. “I’ve just ordered our meal brought up. Welcome to Hythria, your highness.”
Rakaia turned to Valorian with a winning smile, but not before she winked at him and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “You’re forgiven.”
After that, Rakaia focused her attention on Valorian Lionsclaw, and for the rest of the evening Kiam was able to watch and listen while they shared a meal and decide that nothing about Her Serene
Highness, the Princess Rakaia of Fardohnya, made any sense at all.
Chapter
10
THE FIRST THING Her Serene Highness, the Princess Rakaia of Fardohnya did when she returned to her room after dinner was throw up.
It wasn’t the rich food she’d eaten at dinner that caused her upset stomach.
It was fear. It was anxiety.
It was dread anticipation, waiting for someone to look at her and realize immediately she wasn’t who she claimed to be.
It was the certainty that she couldn’t carry this off.
It was the positive expectation that any minute somebody would turn and point at her and yell: Imposter!
How could you do this to me, Rakaia?
Truth was, Rakaia had done nothing to her. Charisee had done it to herself. There was nothing stopping her going downstairs right now and admitting to Lord Lionsclaw that she wasn’t Rakaia but the princess’s base-born half-sister and servant, Charisee.
She would be in trouble, of course, and so would Rakaia when they found her and brought her back. But Rakaia would get a telling off. Her own fate was far less certain, particularly because she hadn’t raised the alarm the moment she learned Rakaia had run away. Adrina might just have her whipped for her temerity or she might send her back to Talabar, where Charisee had no doubt her father, King Hablet, would have his base-born daughter put to the sword for embarrassing him so.
Charisee wiped her mouth and sat on the bed in her borrowed finery. She closed her eyes, relieved her stomach had settled somewhat. She supposed it was because there was nothing left to expel. For a moment she just sat there, a frozen mass of indecision and panic. And then she turned and reached under the pillow for the only real evidence of her deceit.
Charisee unfolded the letter carefully, although she’d read it so many times since she’d woken this morning to find Rakaia missing she already knew its contents by heart.
Dearest Chari, the letter began. Please don’t be mad at me.
I know you think this is a crazy idea and I know you swore you wouldn’t have a bar of it, so I’ve decided to make the decision for both of us.
I cannot, will not, follow the path Papa has laid out for me, while I wait for Alaric to ascend to the throne. When you calm down and have time to reflect on this, you’ll understand why I believe everything will turn out for the best. You deserve more than life as a slave, even a well-positioned one, while I cannot abide the future laid out for me. We have this one chance to change our fortunes. I’m going to grab it with both hands.
I pray to all the Primal Gods and Goddesses there are that you’ll do the same.
I’ve arranged passage with a caravan heading west, which will get me safely out of Winternest. I’ll just tell them I’m you. Nobody has seen my face in Winternest, and with my entourage sent home nobody in Hythria will deny you when you claim to be me. We both have blue eyes and Adrina hasn’t laid eyes on either of us since we were children. She has no reason to suspect you are not Rakaia, while ever you conduct yourself like a princess.
I know you can. The gods know you’re always telling me how it should be done.
Please don’t worry about me. I’ve taken my bridal jewelry to sell along the way, so I will be well catered to, and I’ve left enough for you so it won’t look too suspicious. I can’t wait to start my new life. Maybe, some day in the future, when I think it’s safe, we’ll get together again and I’ll tell you all about the grand adventures I’ve had. You can tell me about the wonderful life you can now have, as a princess of Fardohnya.
Anyway, it is done. I am gone, and any day now Adrina’s escort will arrive. What you tell them is entirely up to you. If you must admit the truth, then so be it. I’ll understand. And if they do manage to find me and drag me back, I’ll try not to be too upset with you.
Or you could do the smart thing. You could put on my dress, hold your head up high, and announce you are Her Serene Highness, Rakaia, Princess of Fardohnya, marry Lord Branador, wait until he dies a few years from now (sooner if you feed him up until he’s too fat to walk), and have the life you would have had if your mother had been a noblewoman instead of a whore.
I love you, Charisee. You have been my best and truest friend all my life. I will miss you desperately and think of you often. But I won’t turn back, and if they find me I’ll just run away again, as soon as I get the opportunity. Please save all of us the trouble and take this gift I’m giving you.
Once you’ve read this letter, burn it. Few people outside the harem know what Rakaia of Fardohnya looks like. Even Papa used to forget which of us was his legitimate child. Once this letter is destroyed, nobody can deny your claim.
You can do this.
I have done it.
Be well, little sister. Have a happy life.
Love, Rakaia
Charisee folded the letter and glanced over at the fire, wondering why she hadn’t burned the letter yet. Rakaia was right about so many things. They would never in their lives have an opportunity like this again. This was her chance to have what her accident of birth had always denied her—a position of wealth and privilege as one of the king of Fardohnya’s royal daughters. And Rakaia didn’t want it.
Since she was a small child, Rakaia had dreamed of wild adventures, sailing the world to visit exotic ports, and making her mark in the world like Adrina had done. It was Rakaia’s admiration of her eldest sister that had lulled Charisee into thinking she wasn’t serious when she first suggested they swap identities once they reached Winternest. She thought Rakaia was dying to meet Adrina and find out how she’d managed to defy their father and end up married for love rather than political gain.
She hadn’t counted on Rakaia wanting a different life so badly she was prepared to forfeit that opportunity for the chance to escape.
Charisee turned the letter over and over in her hands. If she confessed now, would Rakaia hate her? Was it selfish to deny her sister this rare chance, just because she was afraid of what they might do to her accomplice?
And it’s not as if I’d be lying if I present myself to Adrina as her half-sister. I am still Hablet’s daughter.
Just not the daughter she’s expecting.
Charisee realized she’d made her decision and started to feel nauseous again wondering how she could pull it off. She’d almost ruined everything, she knew, when she let Kiam Miar kiss her palm. He was so handsome and he’d been so charming and pleasant and then he’d noticed the calluses on her hands and her slave’s work-worn fingernails. She could see him wondering about them. She was careful not to let Valorian greet her in the same manner after that, and realized she would need to wear gloves until her nails grew longer, the calluses faded, and her hands looked more like those belonging to a princess. That wouldn’t be hard as they rode down from the mountains, but she would need to be careful when they reached Greenharbour.
But even if Kiam Miar thought it odd, Rakaia was right in her claim that few people outside the harem knew what Princess Rakaia looked like.
Her missing sister was wrong about one thing, however. There was no way Charisee was going to burn this letter. It was the evidence she might need someday to prove this madness had been Rakaia’s idea. If she were ever caught, if Rakaia was ever caught, perhaps if—as Rakaia suggested—Charisee needed to throw herself on Adrina’s mercy someday when Alaric became king and started eliminating his siblings, then she needed proof Rakaia had instigated this deception. Otherwise they might simply think she had just killed her sister and taken her place for her own advancement.
“Dear gods, what am I thinking?” she said aloud. And then she closed her eyes.
Jakerlon, she prayed silently. Hear me, please. If I take on my sister’s identity, I will be honoring the God of Liars for the rest of my life. Please watch over me, Jakerlon, God of Liars. Please keep me safe and I will not let you down.
The God of Liars did not answer her, of course, but it made it a little easier to think she was honoring the gods wh
ile helping her sister.
Charisee tucked the letter back under her pillow. She would have to find somewhere safe to store it tomorrow, and she needed to get some sleep because they were leaving for Greenharbour at first light. She didn’t want to be late for her escort.
And then it occurred to Charisee that it didn’t matter. She was a princess now, and if she wandered down to breakfast mid-morning, while they all waited shivering in the snow for hours for her to appear, well, then, so be it.
They were here to escort her, not the other way around.
Being Rakaia is going to be harder than I thought, Charisee realized, which was depressing in the extreme because until this morning when she woke to discover Rakaia had run away, she’d thought it almost impossible.
Chapter
11
“IF YOU’RE NOT looking for work, how much are you willing to pay for passage?”
Lose yourself at Winternest. That’s what Sophany had instructed her daughter to do. Under no circumstances can you leave Winternest with Adrina’s escort.
Once that happened, there was no escape. The Princess Rakaia would be guarded like the precious commodity she was, and she would never again have a chance to escape her eventual assassination when King Hablet learned his wife had betrayed him.
As the bearded, impatient merchant stared her down, waiting for her answer, she quivered, unable to answer his question. She had no idea what passage in a trade caravan cost. She hadn’t even asked where they were headed. All she knew is that the customs man said this fur-cloaked, hairy brute might be willing to take passengers. There were two other girls already seated in the wagon. That might mean safety or trouble. Rakaia had no way of telling which.
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