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.
Dread swept over me. Something loomed, even for the vagabonds. I had seen it in Dihara’s eyes and felt it in the tremble of her hand on my cheek when she said good-bye. Turn your ear to the wind. Stand strong. Did she hear something whisper through the valley? I sensed it now, something creeping through the floors and walls, reaching up through pillars. An ending. Or maybe I was feeling my own mortality drawing near.
I heard Kaden’s footsteps behind me and then felt his hands on my waist. They slowly circled around, pulling me to him.