“Right below the Komizar’s room. I could hear almost everything through
the flue.”
“Do you know who he sent to hunt us down?” I asked.
Eben rattled off the names of everyone sent after us. He saw them leave from his hiding place. We had killed everyone he mentioned back in the Valley of the Giants—except for one who hadn’t been among our attackers. Malich. Which meant he was still out there somewhere.
“Eben,” I asked, before I lost him completely, “is the Komizar ruling now?”
Eben looked at me, fear briefly pushing aside the stupor in his eyes. He nodded as if too afraid to speak the Komizar’s name. “The ghouls down in the caverns took care of him with their own potions. He’s different now. He wants us all dead, and I’m the only one who didn’t do anything.”
“Except slash one of my men,” Rafe said. “What am I going to do about that?”
“It was only a scratch on his arm,” Eben chided. “Probably won’t even need a stitch. He shouldn’t have gotten in my way.”
Rafe looked across the room at the guard who had brought in Eben. The guard nodded confirmation, and Rafe turned back to Eben, this time with a sterner gaze. “And where do your loyalties lie now, Eben?” he asked.
“Not with your kind,” he answered, a snarl lifting his lip, but then his head bowed and he whispered, with all the misery and confusion the world could hold, “but not with the Komizar either.” He’d been cut loose from the only life he knew—for a second time. His focus shifted to the far wall and then his head fell back against his chair, his eyes closed and his mouth open, finally succumbing to his exhaustion. He started to fall to the side, but Rafe grabbed him, scooping his limp body into his arms.
“I’ll be right back,” he said saying he was taking him to the physician’s barracks to bunk, and to check on the soldier Eben had slashed.
“Be sure to post a guard on the urchin,” Sven reminded him as he walked out.
Rafe’s footsteps faded, and the room was heavy with silence, then a few mumbled words erupted among the officers. Unimportant words. Nothing like the ones that pounded in my head.
The Komizar rules Venda.
It was the truth I had known all along.
The truth Rafe had tried to deny.
The truth even the Komizar knew as he lay bleeding: It’s not over.
Even Dihara whispered to me, jei zinterr. Be brave.
She knew it was only beginning.
He wants us all dead.
The vision I’d had of Civica when I was back in the Sanctum seeped into the air before me again, like fingers of curling smoke that had been waiting just outside my field of vision. The citadelle was destroyed, the ruins only broken fangs on the horizon, and piles upon piles of bodies lined the roads like stacked stones in a wall. The cries of a shackled few, to be taken back to Venda as prisoners, hung in the smoky air.
Their moans wove through other voices, Rafe’s, the Komizar’s, the priest’s, Venda’s, and Dihara’s too.
We’ll send word. I promise.
It’s my turn now to sit on a golden throne in Morrighan.
The bridge is destroyed. They can’t even get across.
The Dragon knows only hunger.
Trust your gifts, Arabella, whatever they might be.
We call them our Death Steeds.
Sometimes a gift requires great sacrifice.
You’ll know what you need to do.