Hope is a slippery fish—impossible to hold on to for long, my aunt Cloris would say when I pined for something she deemed childish and impossible. Then you have to hold harder, my aunt Bernette would counter to her older sister before ushering me away in a huff. But some things slipped from your grasp no matter how hard you held on to them.
We were on our own. Rafe’s friends were dead. It wasn’t a whisper in my ear or a prickle at my neck that told me. It was the rules of reason that prevailed, the rules of everything I could understand and see. They said it plainly. This was a harsh land with no forgiveness for enemies.
I watched Rafe each night, stealing a glance when I was sure no one was looking. While my movements within the Sanctum were still closely guarded, his had grown freer, and both Calantha and Ulrix had become less watchful. With calculating patience, he was cultivating their trust. Ulrix, while still a frightening beast of a man, seemed to have given up with his fist, and Rafe suffered no more split lips, almost as if he had judged Rafe an acceptable excuse of a man even though he was enemy swine. Ingratiating yourself with a beast like Ulrix was truly a work of skill.
Rafe drank with the chievdars, laughed with governors, spoke quietly with servants. Young maids brushed close, endeared by his stilted attempts at speaking Vendan, eager to refill his mug, smiling at him beneath lowered lashes. But a new identity, no matter how well played, would do him little good once the Komizar discovered he was lying.
It was as if, with the Komizar gone, everyone had forgotten Rafe’s looming death sentence, or maybe they just thought it would never come to pass. Rafe was convincing. Someone was always pulling him aside, chievdars probing about the Dalbreck military, or governors curious about his powerful distant kingdom, for though they ruled their own small fiefdoms here, they had little or no knowledge of the world that lay beyond the great river. They only knew it by way of the Rahtan who spirited past borders, or by Previzi wagons that shared its treasures. The treasures and their abundance—that was what intrigued them the most. The small infrequent loads brought by the Previzi weren’t enough to satisfy their appetites, nor, apparently, was the booty of slaughtered patrols. They hungered for more.
I wore my dress of leather scraps tonight. When I entered the hall I noticed Calantha speaking to a maid, and the girl came running over. “It would please Calantha if you would braid your hair.” She held up a small strip of leather to tie it with.
I saw Calantha watching us. Every night now, she insisted I say the blessing. It seemed to please some, but heavily rankled others, especially the Rahtan, and I wondered if she was trying to get me killed. When I questioned her motives, she said, “It amuses me to hear you say the words in your odd drawl, and I need no greater reason. Remember, Princess, you’re still a prisoner.” I had needed no reminder of that.
“You can tell Calantha I have no intention of braiding my hair just to please her.”
I aimed a stiff smile at Calantha. When I looked back at the girl, her eyes were wide with fright. It was a message she wasn’t keen to deliver. I took the strip of leather from her hand. “But I will do it for you.” I pulled my hair over my shoulder and began braiding it. When I was finished, the girl smiled. “Now your pretty picture will show,” she said. “Just as Calantha wanted.”
Calantha wanted my kavah to show? The girl started to run away, but I stopped her. “Tell me, is Calantha of the Meurasi clan?”
The girl shook her head. “Oh, I’m not to tell, ma’am.” She turned and ran away.
Not to tell. I think she already had.
The meal went as all the others before it had. I said the blessing to the humble bowed heads of a few and the scowls of many. The fact that it gnawed at Malich the most made it worth it to me, and I always made a point to slap my gaze on his before I began. But then the words took over, the bones, the truth, the pulse of the walls around me, the life that still dwelled in stones and floor, the part of the Sanctum that was growing stronger in me, and by the time the last paviamma echoed back, the scowls mattered naught to me.
Tonight the fare was much the same as every night, thick barley gruel flavored with peppermint leaves, soda bread, turnips, onions, and roasted game—boar and hare. There was little variation, except with the game. Beaver, duck, and wild horse were sometimes served too, depending on what game was caught, but compared to my frequent diet of sand, squirrel, and snake across the Cam Lanteux, it was a veritable feast, and I was grateful for every bite.
I was just dipping my soda bread into the gruel when a sudden sharp clatter roared down one of the hallways that led into the Sanctum. Every man was on his feet in an instant, swords and knives drawn. The ruckus grew louder. Rafe and I exchanged a furtive glance. Could this be his men? With reinforcements?
Two dozen men emerged—the Komizar leading them. He was filthy, spattered with mud from head to foot, but he appeared to relish the squalor. A rare sloppy smile was plastered across his face.
“Look who we ran into on the road!” he said, waving his sword over his head. “The new governor of Balwood! More chairs! Food! We’re hungry!”
The company of men swarmed to the table in all their glorified filth, leaving trails of mud behind them. I spotted the one who had to be the new governor—a young man, both brazen and afraid. His eyes darted around the room, quickly trying to assess new threats. His movements were sharp and his laughter tight. He may have just killed the last governor to gain this position, but the Sanctum was not his homeland. New rules would have to be learned and navigated, and he’d have to manage to stay alive while he did it. His position was not so unlike mine, except I hadn’t killed anyone to gain this dubious place of honor.
And then the Komizar spotted me. He dropped his gear to the floor and crossed the room, stopping an arm’s length away. His skin glowed with a day’s ride in the sun, and his dark eyes gleamed as they traced the lines of my dress. He reached up and fingered the braid falling over my shoulder. “With your hair combed, you only look half the savage.” The room erupted in loyal laughter, but his gaze that glided over me told a different story, one that wasn’t humorous or amusing. “So, while the Komizar is away, the prisoners will play.” He finally turned to Kaden. “This is what my coin bought?”
I prayed Kaden would say yes so the
blame would fall to us. Otherwise, Effiera’s generous gifts might be repaid with retaliation.
“Yes,” Kaden answered.
The Komizar nodded, studying him. “I found one governor. Now it’s your turn to find the other. You leave in the morning.”
* * *
“Why you?” I asked, jerking the tether loose at my waist. It clattered to the floor.
Kaden continued to rummage through his trunk, throwing out a long fur-lined cloak and woolen socks. “Why not me? I’m a soldier, Lia. I—”
I reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look me in the eye.
Worry filled his eyes. He didn’t want to leave.
“Why are you so loyal to him, Kaden?”
He tried to turn back to the trunk, but I gripped his arm tighter. “No!” I said. “You’re not evading me again! Not this time!”