The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

I leaned close to Kaden and whispered, “What is this?” Calantha passed the platter down the table, and the brethren reached to take a bone or a skull.

“Only an acknowledgment of sacrifice,” Kaden whispered back. “The bones are a reminder that every meal is a gift that came at cost to some creature. It is not taken without gratitude.”

A remembrance? I watched as the platter was passed and fearsome warriors reached into the pile and attached bleached fragments to the slitted tethers at their sides. Every meal is a gift. I shook my head, trying to dispel the discord, to erase an explanation that didn’t quite fit the space I had already created for it. I recalled the gaunt faces that had looked into mine as I passed through the city gates and the fear I had felt at hearing the bones rattle at their sides. My first impressions had planted dark thoughts of bloodthirsty barbarians showing off their savagery.

I didn’t realize I was scowling until I saw the Komizar staring at me with a smug grin twisting his mouth. My ignorance was exposed, at least to him, but I had also caught his subtle observance of Kaden. A slow, casual perusal. It still ate at him. Kaden had followed my orders and not the Komizar’s.

When the platter of bones was passed around me to a governor, I reached out and grabbed a bone. It was a piece of jaw with a tooth still anchored in it, boiled clean of every scrap of flesh. I felt Rafe watching me, but I was careful not to look his way. I stood and pulled a raveled string from my hem, then tied the bone and tooth around my neck.

“Can you recite the words too, Princess Arabella,” the Komizar called out, “or are you only good at creating a show?” An invitation to speak to them in their own tongue? He had unwittingly played into my strength. I might not have known what every word meant, but I could repeat every one. A few would do. “Meunter ijotande. Enade nay, sher Komizar, te mias wei etor azen urato chokabre.”

I spoke it flawlessly and, I was certain, with no hint of an accent. The room fell quiet.

Rafe stared at me, his mouth slightly open. I wasn’t sure if he understood or not, but then Calantha leaned close to him whispering the essence of the words: You’re not, dear Komizar, the only one who has known hunger. The Komizar shot her a condemning glance to silence her.

I looked at the long line of brethren that included Griz, Eben, Finch, and Malich. Their mouths, like Rafe’s, hung open. I turned back to the Komizar. “And if you’re going to address me with ridicule,” I added, “I’ll ask that you at least address me correctly. Jezelia. My name is Jezelia.”

I waited, hoping for a reaction to my name, but there was none—not from the Komizar or anyone else. My bravado plummeted. None of them had recognized it. I lowered my gaze and sat down.

“Ah, I forgot, you royals are rich enough to h

ave many names, just like winter coats. Jezelia! Well, Jezelia it is,” the Komizar said, and lifted a mocking toast to me. Laughter rolled off tongues that only seconds ago I had silenced. Jests and more mocking toasts followed. He was accomplished at twisting moments to his purpose. He left everyone thinking about the excesses of royals, including their many names.

The meal began, and Kaden encouraged me to eat. I forced down a few bites, knowing that somewhere deep inside, I was starving, but so much already swirled in my belly, it was hard to feel the hunger anymore. The Komizar ordered Rafe’s hands unchained so he could eat and then waxed eloquent on how the other kingdoms were finally taking proper notice of Venda, even sending royalty and their esteemed cabinet to dine with them. Though his tone was flippant and drew the laughter he sought, I saw him lean toward Rafe more than once and ask about the Dalbreck court. Rafe chose his words carefully. I found myself watching, mesmerized, noticing how he could go from shackled prisoner to shining emissary in a heartbeat.

Then I noticed Calantha lean in, pouring him more ale, even though he didn’t ask for more. Was she trying to loosen his lips? Or was she attentive for other reasons? She was beautiful, in an unsettling way. An otherworldly way. Her colorless hair fell in long waves past her bare shoulders. Nothing about her seemed natural, including her long, slender fingers and painted nails. I wondered what position she held here at the Sanctum. There were other women in the hall, a few seated next to soldiers, many of the servants—and the slight figure I had seen in the shadows—that is, if it was a woman. But Calantha possessed a boldness, from her bright eye patch down to the delicate chains that jingled around her waist.

I was stunned to see Rafe smiling and playing up the role of the jaded emissary who only sought the best deal for himself. The Komizar soaked it up, even if he tried to maintain distance. Rafe knew just which words to drop and when to hold back with a measure of vagueness, keeping the Komizar’s curiosity piqued. I wondered how the farmer I had fallen in love with could have so many sides I hadn’t known. I watched his lips move, the faint lines fanning out from his eyes when he smiled, the breadth of his shoulders. A prince. How had I not even suspected? I recalled the scowl on his face that first night I had served him at the tavern—the bite of every word he spoke to me. I had left him at the altar. How angry he must have been to track me down all the way to the tavern—which meant he was also skilled. There was so much I still didn’t know about him.

I glanced at the Komizar, who had fallen quiet, and found his eyes fixed on me. I swallowed. How long had he been watching me? Had he seen me staring at Rafe?

He suddenly yawned, then leisurely slid his hand across the leather strap on his chest. “I’m sure our guests are getting tired, but where should I put them?” He explained at length that since they didn’t take prisoners in Venda, they didn’t have actual prisons, that justice was swift even for their own citizens. He weighed his various options, but I sensed he was leading us down a path he had already mapped. He said he could shove us both back into the holding room for the night, but it was damp and dreary, and there was only one small straw mattress for us to share. He looked at Kaden as he said it. “But there is an empty room not far from my own quarters that’s secure.” He sat back in his chair. “Yes,” he said slowly, as if thinking it through, “I’ll put the emissary there. But where should I put the princess where she’ll be secure too?”

Malich called from the other end of the table. “She can stay with me. She won’t go anywhere, and we still have a few things to discuss.” The soldiers near him laughed.

Kaden pushed his chair back and stood, glaring at Malich. “She’ll stay in my quarters,” he said firmly.

The Komizar smiled. I didn’t like where this game was leading. He rubbed his chin. “Or I could simply lock her up with the emissary? Maybe that would be best. Keep the prisoners together? Tell me, Jezelia, which would you prefer? I’ll leave it up to you.” His eyes rested on me, cold and challenging. Had my glares at the emissary been real or contrived? There’s always more that can be taken. He was looking for something else I valued besides a rope around my waist.

My hands trembled in my lap beneath the table. I squeezed them into fists and straightened them again, forcing them to comply, to be convincing. I pushed back my chair and stood next to Kaden. I lifted my palm to his cheek, then drew his face to mine, kissing him long and passionately. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer. The room erupted into hoots and whistles. I slowly pulled away, looking into Kaden’s surprised eyes.

“I’ve grown comfortable with the Assassin after the long ride across the Cam Lanteux,” I said to the Komizar. “I’ll stay with him, rather than that treacherous parasite.” I shot Rafe one last glare. He returned it with a glance of cool rage. But he was alive. For now, he was something not worth taking from me.

CHAPTER TEN

Kaden’s room was at the end of a long dark hall. It had a small door with wide hinges frosted in rust and a lock in the shape of a boar’s mouth. It didn’t budge when he tried to push it open, as though the wood was swollen with the dampness, so he put his shoulder into it. It gave and swung open, banging into the wall. He held out his hand for me to go in first. I stepped in, hardly seeing the surroundings, only hearing the weighty thunk of the door closing behind us. I heard Kaden step closer and felt the heat of his body close behind me. The taste of his mouth was still fresh on my lips.

“This is it,” he said simply, and I was grateful for the distraction. I looked around, finally taking in the expanse of the room.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” I said.

“A tower room,” he answered, as if that explained it, but the room was large, and the outer wall curved, so maybe it did. I walked farther inside, stepping onto a black fur rug, my bare feet finally getting some relief from the cold floor. I wiggled my toes deep into the soft fleece and then my eyes landed on a bed. A very small one shoved up against the wall. I noticed that everything, in fact, was shoved up against the wall in a dull, orderly procession the way a soldier who only cared about practicality might arrange things. Next to the bed was a wooden barrel piled with folded blankets, a large trunk, a cold hearth, an empty fuel bin, a chest, and a water basin, followed by a line of mismatched trappings leaning against the wall side by side—a broom, wooden practice swords, three iron rods, a tall candlestick, and the very beleaguered boots he had worn across the Cam Lanteux, still caked with mud. Hanging overhead was a crude wooden chandelier, the oil in its lanterns aged to a deep tawny yellow. But then I saw details that didn’t fit a soldier’s quarters, their smallness suddenly larger than the room itself.

Several books were stacked beneath his bed. More proof that he had lied about not reading. But it was the trinkets that made my throat swell. On the other side of the room, bits of blue and green colored glass strung on braided leather hung from a beam. Tucked in the corner was a chair, and lying in front of it was a chunky rug woven of colorful rags and uncarded wool. The gifts of the world. They come in many colors and strengths. Dihara’s rug. And then, lying in a shallow basket on the floor, were ribbons, a dozen at least of every color, painted with suns and stars and crescent moons. I walked closer and lifted one, letting the purple silk trail through my palm. I blinked back the sting in my eyes.

“They always sent me off with something when I left,” Kaden explained.

But not this last time. Only a curse from sweet, gentle Natiya, hoping that my horse would kick stones in his teeth. He would never be welcome in the vagabond camp again.