The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

Knows no boundaries.

—Song of Venda

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

KADEN

I sat at the Council table, listening, nodding, trying to add a word when I could, but once again Lia had commandeered my thoughts. With every drop of blood within me, I was certain I needed her here. That she needed to be here. But it seemed almost impossible now.

I had known.

I knew what he was planning, and I said nothing because it was everything I thought I wanted—“the steps to justice,” he called them—and I wanted justice. That’s what I had called it too. But I knew we were twisting words. It was vengeance, pure and simple. It was all that mattered. I was certain that the day I looked into my father’s eyes and eased him into his last breath, my own breaths would grow fuller. That the scars I bore would miraculously disappear and be forgotten. Any price seemed worth that prize. Innocents die in war, Lia. I had said those words countless times to myself as justification, even when I learned of Greta’s death. Innocents die. But now I pictured Berdi dishing out extra helpings of stew, myself dancing in the streets of Terravin with Gwyneth and Simone … and there was Pauline, as kind and gentle a girl as it was possible for any earthly being to be. They had names now. Their faces were sharp and clear, while the face of justice had grown dim.

At the same time, I couldn’t forget the people of Venda who had taken me in either. They had adopted me as one of their own. Nourished me. I was Vendan now, and I knew their need was great. We were a kingdom that struggled every day at the hands of those who showed no compassion. Didn’t this land deserve some measure of justice? And the answer to that I knew was an undeniable yes.

I won’t let any harm come to them.

I had made a promise to Lia I wasn’t sure I could keep.

The meetings were running long. Governor Obraun was remarkably easy to sway, agreeing to double the loads from his mines in Arleston. Almost too agreeable. The other governors balked, claiming they couldn’t squeeze blood from a stone. The Komizar assured them they could.

You have an agreement. How wonderful for you.

“Nothing to say, Assassin?”

I looked up, and Malich smirked at me from across the table, delighting in catching me in other thoughts.

“We all have practice at squeezing blood from stone. We’ve done it for years. We can do it through one more winter.”

His smile faded while the Komizar’s grew, pleased that I had pushed the cause. He nodded, our long-held understanding reestablished.

CHAPTER SIXTY

PAULINE

We were waiting on the fringe of the citadelle plaza for Bryn and Regan, hanging in the shadows of the towering spruce, when a soldier galloped wildly past us. He fell from his horse at the foot of the steps, appearing half dead. A sentry rushed to his side, and the soldier said a few words we were too far away to hear, and then he passed out. The sentry disappeared into the citadelle as two guards lifted the soldier and carried him inside.

A crowd began to gather as word spread of the soldier. He had been identified as being from Walther’s platoon. Minutes passed and then an hour, and there was still no sign of Bryn or Regan.

By the time anyone emerged from the citadelle again, the square was full. The Lord Viceregent came out and stood at the top of the steps, his face stricken. He smoothed back his white-blond hair as if trying to compose himself—or perhaps wishing to postpone what he had to say. His voice cracked in his first few words, but then he gathered his strength and announced that Crown Prince Walther of Morrighan was dead, along with his platoon, butchered by the barbarians.

My knees weakened, and Berdi grabbed my arm.

Silence choked the crowd for a moment and then mother after mother, sister, father, wife, brother, fell to their knees. Their anguished wails filled the air, and then the queen appeared on the steps, thinner than I remembered, her face ashen. She walked into the crowd, and she wept with them. The Viceregent tried to offer comfort, but there was no consoling her or anyone else.

Finally I saw the brothers emerge and stop at the top of the steps. Their expressions were grim, their eyes hollow. There was no sign of the king, but then the Chancellor appeared on their heels. Gwyneth and I both tugged on our hoods to be sure we were thoroughly covered. The Chancellor’s face wasn’t stricken, but severe. He told everyone there was more bad news he had to share—news that would make their grief twice as hard to bear.

“We have news of Princess Arabella.” A hush fell, and sobs were choked back as everyone waited to hear what had become of her. “When she shirked her duty as First Daughter, she put us all in peril, and we see the fruit of that treachery with the death of Prince Walther and thirty-two of our finest soldiers. Now word comes that her betrayal runs even deeper. She is creating a new alliance with the enemy. It was part of her plan all along. She has forsaken us and announced her plans to marry the barbarian ruler to become the Queen of Venda.”

There was a collective sucking in of breaths. Disbelief. No, it wasn’t possible. But I looked at Bryn and Regan. Standing like statues, they made no attempt to defend their sister or discredit the Chancellor.

“It is declared,” he continued, “that from this moment forward, she is the most reviled enemy of the Kingdom of Morrighan. Her name will be stricken from all records, and if the gods should deliver her into our hands, she will be executed on sight for her crimes against the chosen Remnant.”

I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t possible.

Regan made eye contact with me at last, but his gaze was empty. He made no effort to show he didn’t believe it. Bryn’s head drooped, and he turned and walked back into the citadelle. Regan followed.

They were grieving for Walther. That had to be it. Surely, in their hearts, they knew it was a lie. She’d been abducted. I told them myself. I know what I saw and heard.