Still, the vast army was taking its toll on the provinces. One more winter, the Komizar said, just one more to secure the plans, the supplies, and the weapons that the armories were fashioning and stockpiling. The Komizar and chievdars had calculated exactly what was needed. Losing two governors in one season spoke of discontent, though, and several of the other governors mumbled among themselves. The Rahtan was to split them up, calm their fears, remind them of the rewards to come, and if that didn’t sway them, remind them of the consequences. But the deciding game piece was Lia. She was a fresh strategy, one that caught their attention, an inroad to encourage the same populace the governors had to squeeze blood from to give just a little more. If the clans were soothed, so also were the governors, and they saw the targets on their own backs shrinking.
The Komizar was bringing me back into the fold, and second chances were not his way. My mad attack on him was already diminished by my easy victory over the emissary—proof that I was Rahtan to the marrow and I followed his orders by reflex. No one mentioned my verbal attack on Lia, but I knew that was as much responsible as anything for the dismissal of my transgression, not just by the Komizar but my brethren as well. When troubles arose, the Assassin ultimately knew where his loyalties lay. The sound of our combined footsteps on the stone walk was a comforting rumble, purposeful and strong—and lately I’d had precious little comfort.
As we approached Sanctum Tower, the Komizar spotted Lia sitting on the gallery wall.
He grinned. “There’s my Siarrah now, just as I ordered. And look how the crowds in the square have grown.”
I had already noted the size.
“The numbers are twice those of yesterday,” Malich said warily.
“The air is bitter, and yet they still come,” Griz added.
The Komizar’s face set with satisfaction. “No doubt due to this evening’s vision.”
“A vision?” I asked.
“You think I’d let her spew her nonsense forever? Remembering long-dead people and forgotten storms? Not when we have our own magnificent storm brewing. Tonight she tells them of a vision of a battlefield where Venda is victorious. She tells them of a lifetime of spring and plenty to be gifted to the brave Vendans by the gods, making all their sacrifices worth it. That should ease the governors’ and the clans’ concerns.” He lifted his hand to the crowds and called out to them as if to take credit for this turn of fortune, but none turned his way.
“They’re too far away to hear you,” Jorik said. “And a murmur grows among them.”
The Komizar’s expression darkened, and his eyes scanned the mass of people, for the first time seeming to assess the vast numbers. “Yes,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “That must be it.”
Jorik tried to soothe the Komizar’s ego further by adding that he couldn’t hear Lia’s words either, because of the distance.
But I could hear her plainly—her voice carried on the air—and she wasn’t speaking of victories.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
I didn’t feel the pain right away. I stared at the floor, a blurry sideways view, my cheek still pressed to the stone, the stench of spilled ale rising up to me. Then I heard the Komizar yell for me to get up.
It was mid-morning, and I had been taking a late breakfast in Sanctum Hall due to last-minute early morning fittings. Calantha and two guards were there with me when we heard sharp footsteps coming down the south corridor. The Komizar stormed in and ordered everyone else out.
I tried to get my bearings, to focus on the tilting room.
“Get up! Now!” he ordered.
I pushed up from the floor, and that’s when the pain hit. My skull throbbed like a giant fist was crushing it. I forced myself to stand and steadied myself against the table. The Komizar was smiling. He stepped forward, gently touched the cheek he had just struck, then hit me again. I braced myself this time and only stumbled, but my neck felt as though it were snapping in two. I faced him, squaring my shoulders, and felt something warm and wet trickle on my cheek.
“Good morning to you too, sher Komizar.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I feigned confusion.
“I told you precisely what to say, and yet you told stories of dead sisters and dragons waking from sleep?”
“They like to hear stories of their kingdom’s namesake. It’s what they wanted to hear,” I answered.
He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him. His eyes danced with fury. “I don’t care what they want! I care about what they need to hear! I care about my orders to you! And I don’t care if the gods themselves hand delivered their words to you in golden goblets! All your drivel about listening without ears, seeing without eyes doesn’t matter. The guards laughed out every word to me—but not one mention of battles and victory! That is what matters, Princess! That is all that matters.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Komizar. I was carried away in the moment by the kindnesses of the people and their earnest desire for a story. I’ll be sure to tell yours next time.”
He looked at me, his chest still heaving. He reached up and wiped my cheekbone, then rubbed the blood between his fingers.
“You’ll tell Kaden you tripped on the stairs. Say it.”
“I tripped on the stairs.”
“That’s better, my little bird.” He rubbed the blood on his finger across my lower lip, and then bent to kiss me, pushing the salty taste of my own blood onto my tongue.
* * *
Calantha and the guard didn’t speak as they led me back to my room, but before she turned to leave, she paused to eye my face. A short while later, a basin of water with herbs floating on top was delivered to my room by a servant. The girl also brought a slice of soft, fleshy root. “For your face,” she said beneath lowered lashes and hurried away before I could ask who sent it, but I could guess it was Calantha. This offense had hit a little too close to home.
I dipped a soft cloth in the water and dabbed it to my cheek to clean the wound. I winced at the sting. I had no mirror, but I could feel the bruise and the burning scrape from hitting the floor. I closed my eyes and held the soaked fabric to my skin. It was worth it. Every word I spoke was worth it. I couldn’t leave them without some kind of knowing of their own. I saw it in their faces, weighing my words and what they might mean. I had pushed as far as I dared, for not everyone in the square had come to hear what I had to say. Some were there to report it. I had seen the Sanctum guards and the quarterlords not only scrutinizing me, but also watching those who had gathered to listen.
I picked up the piece of root the girl had brought and sniffed it. Thannis. Was there nothing this lowly weed couldn’t do? I held it to the wound and felt it soothe the throb.
Across the room, my gaze landed on the wedding dress laid across Kaden’s trunk. It had been finished with little time to spare. Hunter’s Moon was tomorrow. The wedding was to begin at twilight as the moon rose over the foothills. There would be no processions, no flowers, no priests, no parties, none of the fanfare that accompanied a wedding in Morrighan. Vendan wedding traditions were simple, and witnesses were the greatest requirement. It would take place on the eastern wall walk overlooking Hawk’s Pavilion. A volunteer chosen by the Komizar would tie our wrists together with a red ribbon. When we raised our tied hands before them displaying our union, the witnesses would call back a blessing—bound by earth, bound by the heavens—and that would be it. The feast cake of dried fruits that would follow was the greatest luxury, but the simplicity didn’t make the anticipation any less feverish. The Hunter’s Moon and my extravagant red clan dress were embellishments that added to the fervor. I walked over and touched the gown, so carefully pieced together, a dress of many hands and many households. A dress of welcoming, not of good-byes. A dress of staying, not leaving.