The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

Calantha escorted me back into Sanctum Hall.

There were pockets of laughter when I tripped on my sack dress. The Komizar took the rope belt away, saying it was a luxury I would have to earn. Yes, there was always more to take, and I had no doubt he would find things I didn’t even know I valued and take them away piece by piece. I’d have to play the role he was painting for me for now, the pathetic royal getting her comeuppance.

I saw the Komizar’s goal achieved, mirrored in the gawking faces that closed in around me. He had made me utterly ordinary in their eyes. Kaden pushed through a circle of governors who crowded around. Our eyes met, and something wrenched tight in my chest. How could he do this? Had he known I’d be paraded as an object of scorn—and still he brought me here? Was loyalty to any kingdom worth debasing someone you professed to love? I tugged on the sackcloth dress, trying to cover my shoulders. He pulled me from Calantha’s clutch and away from the ogling eyes of the governors into the shadows behind a pillar. I pressed against it, grateful for something solid to lean on. He looked into my eyes, his lips half parted as if searching for something to say. Worry etched his face. I saw that he had wanted anything but this, and yet here we were—because of him. I couldn’t make it easy for him. I wouldn’t.

“So this was the life you promised for me? How wonderfully charming, Kaden.”

Lines deepened around his eyes, his ever-present restraint tested. “Tomorrow will be better,” he whispered. “I promise.”

Servants hurried past us carrying platters piled with dark warm meats. I heard the brethren and governors muttering their hunger, and the low growl of heavy chairs being dragged across stone as they swarmed toward the table in the center of the room. Kaden and I remained planted behind the pillar. I saw one kind of sorrow in his eyes and felt another kind in my heart. He would pay for this like everyone else—he just didn’t know it yet.

“The food is here,” he finally murmured.

“Give me a moment, Kaden. Alone. I just need—”

He shook his head. “No, Lia, I can’t.”

“Please.” My voice cracked. I bit my lower lip, trying to muster some scrap of calm. “Just so I can adjust the dress. Spare me some dignity.” I tugged the fabric back over my shoulder.

He cast an awkward glance at my hand clutching a fistful of fabric at my chest. “Don’t do anything foolish, Lia,” he said. “Come to the table when you’re finished.”

I nodded and he reluctantly left.

I bent down and ripped at the hemline, making a tear up to my knees, then tied the excess fabric up into a knot. I did the same at my neck, tying a smaller knot at my chest so my shoulders would remain covered. Hopefully the Komizar wouldn’t consider knots a luxury too.

Dignity. My skin chafed under the coarse fabric. My toes ached with chill. I was dizzy with hunger. I didn’t care a whit about dignity. That had been taken from me long ago. But I did need a clear, unfettered moment. That much wasn’t a lie. Was such a thing possible here?

The gift is a delicate way of knowing. It’s how the few remaining Ancients survived. Learn to be still and know.

Dihara’s words swept through me. I had to find that place of stillness somehow. I leaned back against the pillar, hunting for the quiet I had found in the meadow. I closed my eyes. But peace was impossible to come by. What good was a gift if you couldn’t summon it at will? I didn’t need a quiet knowing. I needed something sharp and lethal.

My thoughts tumbled, angry and bitter, an avalanche of memory past and present, trying to find blame, to spread it around to every guilty party. I conjured a sip of poison for each one who had pushed me here, the Chancellor, the Scholar—even my own mother, who had knowingly suppressed my gift. Because of them I had suffered years of guilt for never being enough.

I opened my eyes, shivering, staring at the stained stone wall in front of me, unable to move. I was thousands of miles from who I was and who I wanted to be. My back pressed closer to the pillar, and I thought that maybe it was all that held me up—and then I felt something. A thrum. A pulse. Something running through the stone, delicate and distant. It reached into my spine, warming it, strumming, repetitive. Like a song. I pressed my hands flat against the stone, trying to absorb the faint beat, and heat spread to my chest, down to my arms, my feet. The song slowly faded, but the warmth stayed.

I stepped out from behind the pillar, vaguely aware of heads turning, whispers, someone shouting, but I was hypnotized by a thin, hazy figure on the far side of the hall, hidden in the shadows, waiting. Waiting for me. I squinted, trying to see the face, but none materialized.

A strong jerk pulling me to the side broke my attention, and when I looked back, the figure across the hall was gone. I blinked. Ulrix pushed me toward the table. “The Komizar said to sit down!”

Governors and servants alike were watching me. Some scowled, a few whispered to each other, and I saw some reach up and rub amulets strung around their necks. My eyes traveled the length of the table until they stopped at the Komizar. Not surprisingly, he looked at me with a grave warning plastered across his face. Do not test me. Had I caught their attention with a simple unfocused stare? Or when I squinted to see someone hiding in the shadows? Whatever I did, it didn’t take much. The Komizar may have had zero regard for the gift, but at least a few of them were hungry for it, looking for any small sign.

The regard of a few bolstered me. I proceeded forward, leisurely, as if my torn sackcloth dress were a regal gown, lifting my chin and imagining Reena and Natiya beside me. My eyes swept one side of the table and then the other, trying to look directly into the eyes of as many of those present as I could. Searching them. Bringing them to my side. The Dragon wasn’t the only one who could steal things. For the moment, I had the audience he so greatly treasured, but as I passed him to take my seat, I felt my chill return. He was the stealer of warmth as well as dreams, and I felt an icy sting at my neck, as if he knew the purpose of every move I made and had already calculated a countermove. The force of his presence was something solid and ancient, something twisted and determined, older than the Sanctum walls that surrounded us. He hadn’t gotten to be the Komizar without reason.

I took the only empty seat left, one next to Kaden, and instantly knew it was the worst place to sit. Rafe sat directly across from me. His eyes were immediately upon me, cutting cobalt, bright against the grim, full of worry and anger, searching me, when all he should have done was look away. I gave him one pleading glance, hoping he understood, and I averted my gaze, praying to the gods that the Komizar hadn’t seen.

Calantha sat next to Rafe, her baubled blue eye staring at me, her other milky blue eye scanning the table. She lifted the plate of bones, skulls, and teeth that had been set in front of her and sang out in Vendan. Some of the words I had never heard before.

“E cristav unter quiannad.”

A hum. A pause. “Meunter ijotande.”

She lifted the bones high over her head. “Yaveen hal an ziadre.”

She laid the platter back on the table and added softly, “Paviamma.”

And then, surprisingly, all the brethren responded in kind, and a solemn paviamma was echoed back to her.

Meunter. Never. Ziadre. Live. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but the tone had turned grave. A chant of some sort. It seemed to be said by rote. Was it the beginning of a dark barbaric ritual? All the frightening stories I had heard about barbarians as a child came flooding back to me. What were they going to do next?