The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RAFE

Now I understood why Sven preferred soldiering to love. It was easier to understand and far less likely to get you killed.

I was perplexed when I first saw her walk over to the table where several of the barbarians were playing cards. Then I spotted Malich at the table, and it rushed back to me. I’ll take a game of cards to stitchery any day. My brothers are shrewd, bordering on thieves when it comes to their cards—the best kind of teachers to have.

Last night it had been all I could do to stand there and not wring her neck myself, but it was harder still to not have a sword in my hand to protect her from Malich.

Yes, Lia, you were and still are a challenge. But damned if I hadn’t felt a surge of admiration for her too, even

as sweat ran down my neck and I silently cursed her. That was not what I would call sitting tight. Did she ever listen to anyone?

I threw my belt onto the chest. This room was getting on my nerves. The smell, the furnishings, the floral rug. It was suited for some pompous court fool. I opened a shutter to let in some of the brisk night air.

It was our seventh day here, and there was still no sign of Sven, Tavish, Orrin, or Jeb. Too long. I was beginning to fear the worst. What if I had led my friends to their deaths? I had made a promise to Lia that I would get us out of this. What if I couldn’t?

Don’t bring her down with you.… If the Komizar or Council gets the faintest whiff …

I had tried with every power within me not to look at her. The only time we had spoken in days was in clipped words in Sanctum Hall with too many ears listening to say anything remotely helpful to either of us. I knew she was becoming impatient with my persistent disregard of her, but it wasn’t just Kaden who kept a close watch. The Rahtan did too. I sensed that they wanted to catch one or both of us in a lie. Their distrust ran high. And then there was Calantha. I often saw her standing in the shadows in the hall before everyone sat down to eat, scrutinizing Lia, then turning to watch me. There were few women here in the Sanctum, and none seemed to have any position or power—except her. I wasn’t sure what the power was or how much she had, because she was always guarded with my inquiries, and no one else would share anything about her, no matter how casual I kept my questions.

That didn’t keep her from trying to dig information out of me, though she tried to make it look like idle banter. She asked me the prince’s age and then asked me my own age. The prince is nineteen, I had told her, sticking to the truth in case she had knowledge of it, and then I told her I was twenty-five, so it wouldn’t invite musings about us being the same age. In truth, I had no personal emissaries. I was a soldier and had no need of messengers or agents to negotiate for me, so all of my answers in regard to an emissary were drawn from a place of greed—a motive the Komizar would understand if Calantha carried our conversations back to him.

I splashed my face with water, washing the sweat and salt from my skin, trying to erase the image of Lia walking off with Kaden to his room.

Three more days. That’s what Sven always told me. When you think you’re at the end of your rope, give it three more days. And then another three. Sometimes you’ll find the rope is longer than you thought.

Sven had been trying to teach me patience back then. I was a first-year cadet and kept getting passed over for field exercises. No captain wanted to risk injuring the king’s only son. That three days turned into six, turned into nine. Finally it was Sven who lost patience and rode me out to an encampment himself, dumping me at a captain’s tent door, saying he didn’t want to see my face again until it had a few bruises.

And sometimes you’ll find the rope is shorter than you thought.

Here, I say, pressing my fist to her ribs.

And here, my hand to her breastbone.

I give her the same instruction my mother gave to me.

It is the language of knowing, child,

A language as old as the universe itself.

It is seeing without eyes,

And listening without ears.

It was how my mother survived in those early years.

How we survive now.

Trust the strength within you.

And one day, you must teach your daughter to do the same.

—The Last Testaments of Gaudrel

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

They weren’t coming. From the start, I had known their chances were slim, but every time I looked at Rafe’s face, I mustered new hope for his sake. These were not just soldiers coming to help free a wayward prince and princess. These were his friends.