Tonight the fare was much the same as every night, thick barley gruel flavored with peppermint leaves, soda bread, turnips, onions, and roasted game—boar and hare. There was little variation, except with the game. Beaver, duck, and wild horse were sometimes served too, depending on what game was caught, but compared to my frequent diet of sand, squirrel, and snake across the Cam Lanteux, it was a veritable feast, and I was grateful for every bite.

I was just dipping my soda bread into the gruel when a sudden sharp clatter roared down one of the hallways that led into the Sanctum. Every man was on his feet in an instant, swords and knives drawn. The ruckus grew louder. Rafe and I exchanged a furtive glance. Could this be his men? With reinforcements?

Two dozen men emerged—the Komizar leading them. He was filthy, spattered with mud from head to foot, but he appeared to relish the squalor. A rare sloppy smile was plastered across his face.

“Look who we ran into on the road!” he said, waving his sword over his head. “The new governor of Balwood! More chairs! Food! We’re hungry!”

The company of men swarmed to the table in all their glorified filth, leaving trails of mud behind them. I spotted the one who had to be the new governor—a young man, both brazen and afraid. His eyes darted around the room, quickly trying to assess new threats. His movements were sharp and his laughter tight. He may have just killed the last governor to gain this position, but the Sanctum was not his homeland. New rules would have to be learned and navigated, and he’d have to manage to stay alive while he did it. His position was not so unlike mine, except I hadn’t killed anyone to gain this dubious place of honor.

And then the Komizar spotted me. He dropped his gear to the floor and crossed the room, stopping an arm’s length away. His skin glowed with a day’s ride in the sun, and his dark eyes gleamed as they traced the lines of my dress. He reached up and fingered the braid falling over my shoulder. “With your hair combed, you only look half the savage.” The room erupted in loyal laughter, but his gaze that glided over me told a different story, one that wasn’t humorous or amusing. “So, while the Komizar is away, the prisoners will play.” He finally turned to Kaden. “This is what my coin bought?”

I prayed Kaden would say yes so the blame would fall to us. Otherwise, Effiera’s generous gifts might be repaid with retaliation.

“Yes,” Kaden answered.

The Komizar nodded, studying him. “I found one governor. Now it’s your turn to find the other. You leave in the morning.”

*   *   *

“Why you?” I asked, jerking the tether loose at my waist. It clattered to the floor.

Kaden continued to rummage through his trunk, throwing out a long fur-lined cloak and woolen socks. “Why not me? I’m a soldier, Lia. I—”

I reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look me in the eye.

Worry filled his eyes. He didn’t want to leave.

“Why are you so loyal to him, Kaden?”

He tried to turn back to the trunk, but I gripped his arm tighter. “No!” I said. “You’re not evading me again! Not this time!”

He stared at me, his chest rising in controlled breaths. “He fed me when I was starving, for one thing.”

“A charitable act is no reason to sell your soul to someone.”

“Everything is so simple to you, isn’t it?” Anger flashed across his face. “It’s more complicated than an act, as you call it.”

“Then what? He gave you a nice cloak? A room in the—”

His hand flew through the air. “I was traded, Lia! Just like you were.” He looked away as if he was trying to regain his composure. When he looked back at me, the hot fury was still in his eyes, but his tone was slow and cynical. “Except in my case, there were no contracts. After my mother died, I was sold to a passing ring of beggars for a single copper as if I were a piece of trash—with only one caveat—to never bring me back.”

“You were sold by your father?” I asked, trying to fathom how anyone could do such a thing.

In seconds, sweat had sprung to his face. This was the memory that mattered, the one he had always refused to share. “I was eight years old,” he said. “I begged my father to keep me. I fell to his feet and wrapped my arms around his legs. To this day, I’ve never forgotten the sickening scent of jasmine soap on his trousers.”

He shut the trunk lid and sat down, his eyes unfocused as if reliving the memory.

“He shook me off. He said it was better that way. The better was two years with accomplished beggars who starved me so I could bring in more money on street corners. If a day’s begging didn’t bring enough in, they beat me, but always where it didn’t show. They were careful that way. If I still didn’t bring in enough, they threatened to take me back to my father, who would drown me in a bucket of water like a stray cat.”

His gaze turned sharp, cutting into me. “It was the Komizar who found me begging on a muddy street. He saw the blood seeping through my shirt after a particularly bad beating. He pulled me up on his horse and took me back to his camp, fed me, and asked who had whipped me. When I told him, he left for a few hours, promising it would never happen again. When he returned, he was sprayed with blood. I knew it was their blood. He was true to his word. And I was glad.”

He stood and snatched his cloak from the floor.

I shook my head, horrified. “Kaden, it’s an abomination to whip a child and just as bad to sell one. But isn’t that all the more reason to leave Venda for good? To come to Morrighan and—”