The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

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—”