“She earned them,” Kaden said, nearly cutting off the Komizar’s words.

There was a drawn-out hushed moment, and then the Komizar threw his head back and laughed. The others did too, boisterous guffaws, one governor punching Kaden in the shoulder. My cheeks burned. I wanted to kick Kaden’s other shin, but his explanation kept the boots on my feet. Just like soldiers in a tavern, the governors enjoyed their coarse entertainment.

“Surprising,” the Komizar said under his breath, shooting me a questioning glance. “Maybe royals do have some use, after all.”

Calantha approached, followed by four soldiers leading horses. I recognized the Morrighese Ravians, more booty from the massacre. “These are the ones?” the Komizar asked.

“The worst of the lot,” Calantha answered. “Alive but injured. Their wounds are festering.”

“Take them to the Velte quarterlord for butchering,” he ordered. “Make sure he distributes the meat fairly—and make sure they know it’s a gift from the Sanctum.”

I saw that the horses were hurt, but the injuries were gashes that could be cleaned and dressed by a surgeon—not mortal wounds. He dismissed her and walked over to the wagons, waving for the Council to follow him, but I saw Calantha’s lone pale eye linger on him, the hesitation as she turned away herself. Longing? For him? I looked at the Komizar. As Gwyneth would say, he was easy enough on the eyes, and there was something undeniably magnetic about his presence. He exuded power. His manner was calculating and demanded awe. But longing? No. Perhaps it was something else I saw in her glance.

The drivers of the wagons were busy loosening tarps, and the Komizar spoke with a man carrying a ledger. He was a thin, scruffy fellow—and seemed oddly familiar. He spoke softly with the Komizar, keeping his whispers away from the governors’ ears. I stepped behind the others, peeking through the backs of the Sanctum brethren, studying him.

“What is it?” Kaden whispered.

“Nothing,” I answered, and it probably was. The drivers threw the tarps back, and a sickening thud hit my chest. Crates. Before the Komizar even pried one open, I knew what was inside. He pushed aside straw, pulling bottles from it and handing them out to the governors. He walked over to Kaden. “And I can’t forget the Assassin, can I? Enjoy, my brother.” He turned to look at me. “Why so pale, Princess? You don’t enjoy the vintage of your own vineyards? I can assure you, the governors love it.”

It was the revered Canjovese of the Morrighese vineyards.

Apparently raiding trading caravans was among the Komizar’s many talents. This was how he secured his position. Procuring luxuries for his Council that only he seemed able to obtain: bottles of expensive wine for his governors that the Lesser Kingdoms paid great sums for, gifts of war booty for servants, fresh meat donated to the hungry.

But a full stomach was a full stomach. How could I argue with that? And my own father gave gifts to his cabinet, though he didn’t raid caravans to get them. How many Morrighese drivers had died at the hands of raiders so the Komizar could indulge his governors? What else did they steal, and who did they kill to get it? The death list seemed to grow and grow.

He gave the Council free rein to rummage through the other crates in the remaining wagons and split it up among them, and then walked back over to us. He threw a small pouch to Kaden that jingled when it landed in his palm.

“Take her to the jehendra and get her some suitable clothes.”

I looked at the Komizar suspiciously.

His brows rose innocently, and he raked his long dark locks from his face. He looked like a boy of seventeen instead of a man nearly thirty. A Dragon of many faces. And how well he wore them. “Don’t worry, Princess,” he said. “Just a gift from me to you.”

Then why did it create a breath-sucking hollow in my stomach? Why the turnaround from a sack dress to a gift of new clothing? He always seemed to be a step ahead of me, knowing just how to push me off-kilter. Gifts always came with a price.

A soldier brought him his horse as a whole squad waited for him at the gate. He took the reins, called his good-byes, then added, “Kaden, you’re the Keep in my absence. Walk with me to the gate. I have a few things to tell you.”

I watched them walk away, the Komizar’s arm slung over Kaden’s shoulder, their heads nodding, conspiring. A frightening shiver skipped through me as if I were seeing ghosts. They could be my own brothers, Regan and Bryn, walking through the halls of Civica confiding a secret. The small wedge I had planted was already disappearing. They had a history together. Loyalty. The Komizar called him brother, as if they really were. I knew, even minutes ago when I had called Kaden an ally, that he wasn’t—not as long as Venda came first.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

KADEN

“She speaks the language well. How is that possible?”

He hadn’t shown his surprise last night when she spoke. He wouldn’t. Surprise in front of the Council wasn’t his way. In truth, I think he was rarely surprised by anything, but I heard it in his voice now. It was strange that I should feel a sense of pride. Just as I had underestimated Lia when I began tracking her, he had underestimated her too. Most royals barely knew where Venda was, much less spoke the tongue.

“She’s gifted at languages,” I explained, “and our time crossing the Cam Lanteux gave her plenty of opportunity to study ours.”

He sighed dramatically. “Another gift? The princess is full of them—though I haven’t seen evidence of the one you claim yet. I wouldn’t call that dizzy-eyed performance last night anything but a sham. Though maybe a useful one.”