The Heart of Betrayal

  “Another word for liar. I can see why you’d have need of such a word. Not all kingdoms do.”

  He walked over and looked out the window, unafraid to turn his back on me, but his hand was never far from the dagger at his side. He examined the narrow window as if judging its width, then turned back to me. “I still find it interesting that the prince’s urgent message for Venda came right on the heels of Lia’s arrival here. Almost as if you were following us. Interesting too that you came alone and not with a whole entourage. Isn’t that how you soft courtly types usually travel?”

  “Not when we don’t want the whole court to know guarded business. The prince is already assembling a new cabinet to replace his father’s, but if they get the slightest hint of his plans beforehand, they’ll quash it. Even princes have only so much power. At least until they become kings.”

  He shrugged as if unimpressed with princes or kings. I pulled on my other boot and stood. He indicated with the sweep of his hand that I should exit first. As we walked down the corridor, he asked, “You find the accommodations to your liking?”

  The room was basically a boudoir furnished with an oversized bed, feather mattress, netted canopy, rugs, tapestries on walls, and a wardrobe that held thick soft robes. It smelled of perfumed oils, spilled wine, and things I didn’t want to think about.

  Kaden grunted at my silence. “It’s one of his indulgences, and he prefers not to entertain female visitors in his own quarters. I suppose the Komizar thought his frilly emissary boy would be comfortable in it. And it seems you are.” He stopped walking and faced me. “My own quarters are much plainer, but Lia seems to be content there. If you know what I mean.”

  We stood chest to chest. I knew what game he was playing. “You think you can goad me into lunging at you so you can slit my throat?”

  “I don’t need a reason to slit your throat. But I do want to tell you this. If you want Lia to live, stay away from her.”

  “And now you’re threatening to kill her?”

  “Not me. But if the Komizar or Council gets even the faintest whiff that the two of you are conspiring together, not even I can save Lia. Remember, your lies might still be found out. Don’t bring her down with you. And don’t forget, she chose me over you last night.”

  I lunged, smashing him against the stone wall, but his knife was already at my throat. He smiled. “That was the other thing I wondered about,” he said. “Though you lost to me at the log wrestling event, your moves were quite practiced, more like a trained soldier than a puff of court confectionary.”

  “Then maybe you haven’t met enough court confectionary.”

  He lowered his knife. “Apparently not.”

  We walked in silence the rest of the way to Sanctum Hall, but his words hammered in my head. Don’t bring her down with you … the faintest whiff that the two of you are conspiring …

  And Kaden already did have a whiff. How, I didn’t know, but I’d have to do a better job convincing him and the rest of these savages that there was nothing between us. I hated that his logic rang true—if I was found out, I couldn’t bring Lia down with me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Welcomed by the clan of Meurasi.

  I knew I should be afraid. The welcome was also going to spark wrath, and further inflaming the Council’s hatred toward me was one thing I couldn’t afford.

  But I had been welcomed. And I felt it. I couldn’t turn my back on that either. I felt it with every stitch and scrap of leather that covered me. A strange wholeness. Little Yvet said Effiera had liked my name. Was it possible that outside of the Sanctum walls, there were Vendans who had heard the name Jezelia before, not just in passing but in a forgotten song handed down among families?

  I wondered if Calantha was overstating the ire of the Council for her own purposes. I had seen her last night, just as focused on Rafe as the Komizar had been, but surely for very different reasons.

  “Go on.” Calantha poked at my back, pushing me forward.

  I walked into Sanctum Hall. It was noisy and crowded, and I thought I might slip through unnoticed, but then a governor saw me and stopped, choking on his ale, spray flying from his mouth. A chievdar cursed under his breath.

  My arrival ran through the hall like a loose squealing pig. A ragged path opened up as others caught sight of me. Then, when a group of soldiers stepped aside, Kaden and Rafe saw me. They were at the other end of the hall, seated at the table, but slowly stood as I approached. They both appeared to be confused and cautious, as if something wild had been unleashed in front of them. Rafe couldn’t know what this scrap of dress meant, and I wondered why he was looking at me that way too.

  I kept moving forward, the soft leather snug against my skin. There were whispers about the kavah on my shoulder, and a few vulgar sounds of approval. I wasn’t the filthy royal beast they had seen last night. Now I was something recognizable, someone who looked almost like one of them. I was a piece of their own history that reached back to the oldest clan of Venda.

  “Jabavé!” Malich and two other Rahtan stepped into my path. “What does the Morrighese bitch wear?” Their knives were curiously drawn as if they intended to cut the dress from me. Or simply cut me.

  I steeled my gaze. “Aren’t you brave?” I said. “You must approach me with a drawn knife now?” I let my eyes slowly graze Malich’s striped face, the trails of my nails still visible across it. “But I suppose your fear is understandable. Considering.”

  He stepped toward me, but Kaden was suddenly there, pushing him aside. “She wears what the Komizar ordered her to wear—suitable clothes. You question his orders?”

  Malich’s knife was tight in his hands, his knuckles white. Orders or no orders, revenge was taut in his eyes. As long as his face was marked by my hand, it would be. The two other Rahtan beside him exchanged a glance with Kaden and sheathed their weapons. Malich reluctantly did too, and Kaden pulled me away toward the table.

  “You’ll never learn, will you?” he whispered between gritted teeth.

  “I hope not,” I answered.

  “What do you think you’re wearing?”

  “You don’t like it?” I asked.

  “It’s not what we bought today.”

  “But it’s what Effiera sent.”

  “For the sake of the gods, sit down and be quiet.”

  And he, apparently, would never learn either.

  I sat on Kaden’s left. Rafe was adjacent to him on his right, close enough for Kaden to keep an eye on him, but not close enough for Rafe and me to share even the smallest word without Kaden overhearing. It didn’t seem to matter. Rafe’s eyes briefly skimmed my Vendan attire, then he looked away and seemed to avoid my gaze thereafter. I should have been glad for his cold dismissal. If Griz could perceive our connection by peering into my eyes, others might too. It was best that we not look at each other at all, but the pull was still there, and the more I avoided him, the more the burn grew in me. All I wanted to do was turn and watch him.

  I looked down the length of the table instead. It seated close to sixty, so only half of those present were the Sanctum Council. I guessed the rest were favored soldiers or other guests of the Council.

  Kaden spoke with Governor Faiwell of Dorava Province, who sat adjacent to me, and Chievdar Stavik in the next seat, who had slain my brother’s platoon in the valley. Just down from them were Griz and Eben. I wanted to thank Eben for my boots, but with the scowling chievdar within earshot, I didn’t dare.

  Servants began bringing in stacks of hammered plates; trays of salted pork snouts, ears, and feet; platters of dark meat that I guessed to be venison; bowls of thick gruel; and pitchers to refill empty tankards. The energy in the hall was different tonight. Maybe it was because the Komizar was gone, or maybe it was just I who was different. I noticed the servants whispering more among themselves. One of them approached me, a spare girl, tall and wispy. She hesitated, then offered a short, awkward curtsy. “Princess, if the ale isn’t to your liking—”


  Stavik roared, and the poor girl fell back several steps. “Watch your tongue, maid!” he yelled. “There’s no royalty in Venda, and she’ll sure as hell drink what the rest of us do or not drink at all.”

  A rumble ran down the table, a growing discord that echoed the chievdar’s contempt. The unexpected welcome was being challenged as swiftly as a lash to the back. I felt Kaden’s hand on my thigh. A warning. And I realized, even as Assassin, he was feeling the edge of what he could control.

  I returned the chievdar’s glare, then spoke to the girl, who was still trembling several steps away. “As Chievdar Stavik so wisely said, I’ll drink whatever you serve and be glad for it.”

  Kaden’s hand slid from my thigh. The discord was replaced with uneasy chatter. Baskets of bread were brought to the table. For all their wretched and coarse ways, no one partook prematurely. They all waited for Calantha to offer the acknowledgment of sacrifice.

  The same girl who had cowered before the raging chievdar just moments earlier now came forward, the platter of bones rattling in her frightened hands as she set it before Calantha.

  Everyone waited.

  Calantha looked at me, her lone eye narrowing, and then she nodded. The air in the room shifted. I knew what she was going to do before she ever moved. My temples throbbed. Not now. This might be the move that killed me. The timing was all wrong. Not now. But it was all already in motion. Calantha stood and shoved the platter across the table at me. “Our prisoner will give the acknowledgment tonight.”

  I didn’t wait for dissent, nor for a sword to be drawn. I stood. And before Stavik could utter a word, before Kaden could pull me back to my seat, I sang the Vendan acknowledgment of sacrifice and more. E cristav unter quiannad.

  The words poured out, hot and urgent, like my chest had been laid open. Meunter ijotande. And then more flowed out languid and slow, a wordless language, like that day in the valley, remembrances known only to the gods. I lifted the platter over my head, Yaveen hal an ziadre.

  I lowered the bones to the table once again and offered the final paviamma.

  The room was swept silent. No response came back to me.

  Seconds ticked as centuries, and then finally a faint paviamma echoed back from Eben. The slight tear in the silence opened wider, and more paviammas rolled down the table and back again, the brethren looking at their laps. The meal began, food was passed, talk resumed. Kaden breathed an audible sigh and leaned back in his seat. Finally, Rafe looked at me too, but the expression in his eyes wasn’t what I wanted to see. He looked at me as if I were a stranger.

  I shoved the platter toward him. “Take a bone, Emissary,” I snapped. “Or are you not grateful?”

  He glared at me, his lip lifted in disgust. He grabbed a long femur and turned back to Calantha without a second glance.

  “It seems that if the Komizar doesn’t kill them, they might kill each other,” Governor Faiwell quipped to Stavik.

  “The worst enemy is one that you’ve slept with,” Stavik answered.

  They both laughed as if they knew this from experience.

  This was our plan, I told myself.

  A performance. That was all.

  The kind of performance that could rip out a heart a piece at a time. Rafe didn’t look at me again for the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Kaden was silent as he got ready for bed, the kind of silence that made every other sound grating—his breathing, the weight of his footsteps, the sound of water poured from a pitcher. It was all laced with tension.

  He scrubbed his face over the basin, and ran his wet fingers through his hair. His movements were brusque. He crossed the room and pulled his belt from his trousers with a quick yank. “The soldiers told me you sat on the wall outside the window today,” he said without looking my way.

  “Is that forbidden?”

  “It’s not advised. It’s a long drop.”

  “I needed fresh air.”

  “They said you sang songs.”

  “Remembrances. Just the evening tradition of Morrighan. You remember that, don’t you?”

  “The soldiers said people gathered to listen.”

  “So they did, but only a few. I’m a curiosity.”

  He unlocked his trunk and threw in his belt and scabbard. His knife was placed just under the fur rug where he would sleep—he kept his blade close, even in his own locked room. Was it habit or a requirement of the Rahtan, who always had to be ready? It reminded me that I still had Natiya’s knife in my boot and I’d have to be discreet when I removed it.

  “Is something wrong? Was it the way I said the blessing?” I asked as I struggled with the laces at my back.

  He took off one boot. “You said it fine.”

  “But?”

  “Nothing.” He saw me fiddling with the laces. “Here, let me look.”

  I turned around. “Aster seems to have knotted them,” I said.

  I felt his fingers fumbling with the task, then finally felt the fabric loosen. “There,” he said. I turned to face him. He looked down at me, his eyes warm. “There is something else. When I saw you in that dress, I was—” He shook his head. “I was afraid. I thought— Never mind.”

  I’d never seen him wrestle so much with his words. Or admit to being afraid. He stepped away and sat on the bed. “Be careful how much you push, Lia.” He pulled his other boot off.

  “Are you worried about me?”

  “Of course I’m worried about you!” he snapped.

  I stiffened, surprised by his anger. “I’ve been welcomed, Kaden. That’s all. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “That kind of welcome could also bring a death sentence.”

  “From the Council, you mean.”

  “We have very little here, Lia, but our pride.”

  “And a prisoner’s been honored. That’s the problem?”

  He nodded. “You only just got here and—”

  “But, Kaden, the people who welcomed me are Vendans.”

  His eyes drilled into me. “But they’re not the ones who carry lethal weapons.”

  There was no denying that the tools of Effiera’s trade were nothing like Malich’s and his cohorts’. I sat down beside Kaden. “What is the clan of Meurasi? Why do they matter so much?”

  He explained that the city was filled with people from all the provinces. They tended to settle into neighborhoods of their own clan, and each had unique characteristics. One quarter was quite different from another, but the clan of Meurasi represented all things Vendan. Hearty, enduring, steadfast. They honored many of the ways of old that others had forgotten, but from them came the promise of loyalty above all.

  “They’ll clothe their own, even if they have to piece together scraps to do it. Everyone contributes what they can. Their bloodline reaches all the way back to the only child Lady Venda had. The first Komizar remarried after she died and had many children with other wives, but from Venda, there was only one, Meuras. So yes, it’s an honor for anyone to be welcomed to the clan, but a prisoner—” He shook his head as if trying to figure it out then looked at me. “It just isn’t done. Did you say something to Effiera in the tent?”

  I remembered her expression when Aster told her my name, and then the soft murmurs when I removed my shirt and they saw the kavah on my shoulder. The ways of old. Did the Meurasi still pass down the babble of a madwoman? A pretty name, Yvet called it. Maybe it was more than that, but given the Council’s reaction to my welcome and Kaden’s apparent disapproval as well, I decided to keep that card close to my chest for now.

  “No,” I said. “We only talked about clothes.”

  He looked at me warily. “Be careful. Don’t push it, Lia.”

  “I heard you say that the first time.”

  “I don’t think you did.”

  I jumped to my feet. “Why is this my fault?” I shouted. “You’re the one who took me to the jehendra even when I said I didn’t need clothes! I bought one thing, and they brought me anot
her. If I had insulted them by refusing the clothes, I’m sure I’d be reprimanded for that too! And tonight did I ask to say the acknowledgment of sacrifice? No! Calantha shoved the platter of bones in my face. What was I to do? Is there anything I can do that’s right in your eyes?”

  He sighed and pushed against his knees to stand. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for any of this. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

  My anger cooled. Maybe it was just part of his training as an assassin not to show it, but Kaden was never tired. He was always alert and ready, but his fatigue was evident now.

  I lifted my foot onto the frame of the bed to unlace my boot. “Where were you all day?”

  “Duties. Just attending to my duties as Keep.”

  What kind of duties would take a toll on him like this? Or maybe he wasn’t well? He grabbed blankets from the top of the chest and dropped them to the fur rug.

  “I’ll take the rug tonight,” I offered.

  “No. I don’t mind.”

  He took off his shirt. His scars always stopped me, no matter how many times I had seen them. They were a harsh reminder of how brutal his world was. He snuffed the lanterns, and once I had changed, he blew out the candle too. Tonight there weren’t even dancing shadows to ease me to sleep.

  It was quiet for a long while, and I thought he had already fallen asleep, but then he asked, “Was there anything else you did today?”

  He wasn’t too tired for his mind to still be churning with questions. Did he suspect something? “What do you mean by else?”

  “Just wondering what you did all day. Besides climb out the window.”

  “Nothing,” I whispered. “It was a long day for me too.”

  The next day when Kaden had to go out, he had Eben come to keep me company, but I knew it was a ruse to keep an eye on me. Eben was guarding me, just as he had in the vagabond meadow—except that things were different between us now. He was still the trained killer, but now there was a chink in his armor, and a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was that I had spared him the burden of killing his own horse. Maybe my whispered acknowledgment of Spirit’s name allowed something he had hidden inside to bloom. Just a little. Or maybe it was that we shared a similar grief, watching someone we loved be butchered before our eyes.