The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

“I was a spy.”

I closed my eyes. It was worse than I thought.

“Now, don’t go getting all knotted up. It’s not good for the baby. My being a spy—an ex-spy—isn’t the end of the world. It might even come in handy.”

Come in handy? I opened my eyes and saw her grinning at me.

She told me about the Eyes of the Realm, spies of Civica scattered throughout towns and manors in Morrighan, who relayed information back to the seat of power. At one time, she had needed the money and was good at drawing out information from patrons at an inn in Graceport where she cleaned rooms.

“So you spied for the king?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe. I dealt only with the Chancellor. He—” Her expression darkened. “He was persuasive, and I was young and stupid.”

Gwyneth was still young. She was only a handful of years older than me. But stupid? Never. She was sly and calculating and irreverent, things I was not. In my gut, I knew her skills could be useful in finding a sympathetic ear, but still I hesitated. I was afraid to be drawn into some network of spies, even if she claimed to no longer be part of it. And what if she still was?

It was almost as if she could see the thoughts parading through my mind.

“Pauline,” she said firmly, “you’re probably the most saintly, loyal person I’ve ever met, which can be admirable, but also quite annoying at times. It’s time to knuckle down. No more playing nice girl. Do you want to help Lia or not?”

The only answer to that was yes.

No matter what I had to do.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The walls closed in, the path seeming to narrow with each footstep. I was led through a dark hall, up two flights of musty stairs, along another hall no wider than arms’ breadth, three turns, then down several steps. The inside of this fortress was as much a maze as it appeared to be from the outside, centuries of architecture mashed together.

This wasn’t the path back to Sanctum Hall. I felt my heart quicken. Where were they taking me now? My hair was still damp on my shoulders, and my bare feet frigid on the cold floor. I memorized my path, certain it would matter at some point. Everything mattered. Every detail. Every flutter of an eyelash. Of all people right now, I longed for Gwyneth, so smooth in all her movements, and so good at hiding her secrets with a smile—except when it came to things she cared about, like Simone. That was when lies showed on Gwyneth’s face. Even now, I was learning from her. Everything I still cared about had to cease to show on my face.

On our last turn, we walked down a drafty passageway headed toward a large double door. Its thick black hinges branched out in tangled thorns. The guards knocked, and I heard the heavy slide of a bolt unlatched within. I was thrown forward because the guards seemed to know no other way of releasing prisoners, but this time I was ready and only stumbled.

I entered a silent room. My gaze fell on Kaden first, his jaw tight, the telltale vein rising on his neck as he took in my new coarse attire. Was it shame or anger I saw flashing through his eyes? But

I also noticed he had bathed—and changed. With his Morrighese disguise discarded, he looked like one of them now, an animal of a different stripe. He wore a loose shirt cut in their style, and a trail of bones hung from his weapon belt. This had been the real Kaden all along.

And then I saw Rafe. His back was to me, and his hands were shackled behind him with a guard close at his side. I looked away quickly and settled my gaze on the Komizar instead.

“Perfect timing, Princess,” he said. “Your farmhand just arrived too.” He waved me forward until I was standing near Rafe.

The Komizar still wore the baldrick, and now Walther’s sword dangled from it too. He grinned as I took it in. I molded my gaze to steel. From this moment forward, I would make my brother’s pillaged goods my strength rather than my weakness.

He stepped to the center of the room and threw his hands out to his sides. “It’s a historic day in Venda, my brethren. Not one, but two prisoners.” He still spoke in Morrighese, I assumed for our benefit. I didn’t know if Rafe understood Vendan or not. I cursed myself for not asking when we were in the holding room together. Details like this could matter later on. The Komizar turned his attention to me and Rafe. “I hope you both appreciate your good fortune to even be prisoners. It’s a rare privilege—though it may be fleeting.” His voice was playful, his expression almost cheerful. He walked closer to me, lifted a strand of damp hair from my shoulder, then dropped it with distaste. “I already know why you’re here. A royal with a supposed gift that my Assassin believes will be useful to Venda.” He shrugged. “Time will tell.”

He turned to Rafe. “But, you … tell me why I shouldn’t slice you from gizzard to gut right now and punish the soldiers who didn’t kill you on sight.”

“Because I have news for you that will benefit Venda.” Rafe’s answer was quick and confident.

The Komizar laughed in a way that made the room grow darker. “So I’ve heard.” He walked over to the table in the center of the room and hoisted himself up on it, sitting on its edge with his legs dangling. He looked more like a swaggering ruffian sitting in a pub than a ruler. “Chievdar Stavik told me of your claim,” he said. “But the soldiers tell me otherwise. A smitten farmhand, they call you, and the princess seemed to think you showed up just for her. I understand there was an entertaining embrace.”

“I was a familiar face in a foreign land,” Rafe answered. “I can’t help that the girl latched on to me. But I’m not a fool when it comes to women. Pleasure is one thing; business is another. I wouldn’t show up on a hostile doorstep over a mere summer distraction.”

The Komizar’s eyes flickered to me. I glared at Rafe.

“A distraction,” the Komizar repeated, nodding. “So being a farmhand was only a ruse?”

“The prince sent me to find out if the girl really fled the wedding or if it was a planned retaliation all along, for past grievances. In case you aren’t aware, Dalbreck’s had a long, rocky relationship with our nearest neighbors. Shall I recite the entire history of petty actions perpetrated by Morrighan? However, the king’s offer of marriage was a genuine effort to bury past grievances.”

“And to create an alliance.”