The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

ng plenty warm with your cheeks all flushed, and—”

“Aster, who are you talking about?”

She moved aside, and a young man stepped timidly into view. He slipped his hat from his head and clutched it to his stomach. “I’m here to leave fuel for the hearth.”

I looked back over my shoulder at the bin near the fireplace. “I still have wood and patties. I don’t need—”

“The weather’s turning colder, and I got my orders,” he said. “The Komizar says you’ll need more.”

The Komizar concerned about my warmth? Not likely. I looked at him—a rumpled patty clapper—but something about him didn’t seem quite right. The pale brown of his eyes was a bit too sharp. An unbridled energy simmered in them, and even though his clothes were filthy and his face unshaven, his teeth were even and white.

“Calantha told me to come right back, Miz,” Aster said. “Can I leave this fetcher here with you?”

“Yes, that’s fine, Aster. Go along.” She ran off, and I stepped aside, waving the young man to the bin by the hearth.

He rolled his cart into the room but stopped in the middle and turned to face me. He looked at me curiously, then bowed deeply. “Your Highness.”

I frowned. “Are you mocking me?”

He shook his head. “You might want to close the door.”

My mouth fell open. He spoke these last words in Morrighese and had switched tongues without missing a beat. The majority of Vendans outside of the Sanctum didn’t speak the language, and those within—the Council and some of the servants and guards—spoke it with a heavy broken tongue if they spoke it at all.

“You speak Morrighese,” I said.

“We call it Dalbretch where I’m from, but yes, our kingdoms’ languages are almost identical. The door?”

I sucked in a shocked breath, quickly slamming the door, and whirled back to him. Tears sprang to my eyes. Rafe’s friends weren’t dead.

He dropped to one knee and took my hand, kissing it. “Your Highness,” he said again, this time with greater emphasis. “We’re here to take you home.”

* * *

We sat on my bed and talked for as long as we dared. His name was Jeb. He told me the journey into Venda had been a tricky one, but they had been in the city for a few days now. They were working out preparations. He asked me questions regarding the Council Wing and the layout of the Sanctum. I told him every hall and path I knew of, especially those least traveled, and the tunnels in the caverns below. I told him who the most bloodthirsty Vendans of the Council were, and about those who might be helpful, like Aster, but that we couldn’t do anything that might put her at risk. I also mentioned Griz and how he had covered for Rafe, but I suspected it was only as a payback to me for saving his life.

“You saved his life?”

“I warned him about a bison stampede.”

I saw the question in his eyes. “I can’t control or summon it, Jeb. It’s a gift, something passed down through the surviving Ancients, that’s all. Sometimes I don’t even trust it myself—but I’m learning to.”

He nodded. “I’ll nose around and see if I can figure anything out about this Griz fellow.”

“The others,” I asked, “where are they?”

He hesitated. “Hidden in the city. You won’t see them until it’s time. Either Rafe or I will give you warning.”

“And there are four of you?” I tried my best to sound optimistic, but the number said aloud had a gravity of its own and spoke for itself.

“Yes,” he said simply, and moved on as if the odds were a gulf that they would somehow navigate. He wasn’t sure exactly when they’d be ready to move, but they hoped details would be worked out soon. They were still investigating the best way to accomplish their task, and there were a few supplies they were having difficulty acquiring.

“The jehendra in the Capswam quarter has just about every kind of shop there is,” I said.

“I know, but we have no Vendan money, and it’s far too busy there to steal anything.”

I leaned over and felt for the leather pouch under my bed. It jingled as I placed it in Jeb’s hands. “Winnings from a card game,” I explained. “It should buy just about anything you might want. If you need more, I can get it.” Nothing could have given me greater satisfaction than knowing Malich might play a role in our escape.

Jeb felt the weight of the pouch and assured me it would be more than enough. He said he’d remember never to play me in a game of cards. From there, he spoke in gentle positives the way a well-trained soldier would, saying they would be acting as quickly as they possibly could. A soldier named Tavish was the coordinator of all details, and he would give the signal when everything was ready. Jeb downplayed the dangers, but the words he avoided rippled beneath the surface—the risk and possibility that we might not all get out.