by Cara Witter
Daniella barely heard him over the sound of the story telling itself in her mind: the prince whose arrogance and mercilessness turned him into the king of the wolves, only to be made human again by the love of the blind milkmaid. The tales from this region were some of her favorites, a similar compilation of which she’d kept in a small stack at her bedside. The words, written in Derving’s masterful calligraphy, flowed before her eyes, the cadence of the phrases and even the mere weight of the book imparting a sense of comfort she hadn’t felt since . . .
She froze, remembering. The book, some of these same tales, hitting the wall just to the side of her head, pages falling loose, fluttering down like wounded swallows. Erich, enraged, watching her like he owned her. I can come for you anytime—
She snapped the book shut and held it out to Jaeme, as far from her as she could manage. “I can’t accept this.”
He looked taken aback, and Daniella realized how cold her voice had sounded. She suddenly felt numb all over.
“I . . . I already have this one,” she continued, trying to sound more natural.
There was a brief flicker of some expression Daniella couldn’t recognize on his face, but just as quickly the affable smile was back. “Well, unless you have some very clever hiding places in that dress, I’m guessing you left your copy back in Peldenar. You could probably use another.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again, flustered.
“Daniella, listen. I understand that you’re used to the social politics of court, and the gods know that I unfortunately am too, but this isn’t meant in the way you’re probably assuming.” Jaeme’s expression was oddly sympathetic. “This isn’t an attempt to curry political favor or set up some shadowy alliance. We appear to be on the same side anyway, not that I believe this whole prophecy thing.”
Daniella still didn’t say anything. She certainly had no desire to inform him that he was seriously overestimating her experience in court politics, as most people at court tended to avoid her like a boil-covered beggar. Presumably the risk of Diamis’ wrath was not worth trying to set up any “shadowy alliances” with his daughter.
She lowered the book again, if only because it felt awkward to hold it out when he didn’t seem to have the slightest intention of taking it.
“It’s a gesture, nothing more,” he continued. “No expectations attached. Truly. Except . . .”
“Except?”
He ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair, looking briefly uncomfortable. “Well . . . I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem to be fond of me. And while my wounded pride might heal in other circumstances, I thought a peace offering might help to change your opinion.”
She blinked, incredulously. “So the expectation is for me to like you?”
“I’d prefer ‘lust after,’ of course, but I’ll accept ‘merely tolerate.’” He smiled. Gods, Adiante was right, Daniella thought. He is charming.
She looked down as if to keep him from reading the traitorous thought. The book nestled innocently in her hands and part of her longed to fall into the stories, to settle into the words as if they were thick blankets she could pull over her head.
Would she feel Erich’s grip with every page?
Daniella glanced over to where Perchaya and Nikaenor were still standing by the fruit stand. Nikaenor appeared to be trying to teach Perchaya how to peel an apple in one long strip with her dagger. Unfortunately, they didn’t look to be in any rush to leave yet. Gods, did no one else think standing around in the open like this was not the best idea? It was almost enough for Daniella to wish Kenton was here. Not quite enough, but close.
“I don’t dislike you, Jaeme,” she said finally. “I just don’t . . . understand you.”
“How so?”
She chewed her lower lip before remembering that Adiante always said doing so made her look like a mouse trying to crack a nut. “You, um . . . well, you seem . . .” She sighed, then plunged ahead. “You say you dislike social politics, but you seem to play them very well.”
The corners of his lips turned up wryly, but he didn’t say anything. She lowered her voice as she continued.
“You also say you don’t believe in this prophecy, or that you have any part in it, yet you’re going with us all the way to Tirostaar, where we will very likely die trying to help Saara enact what amounts to a political coup.” She paused. “Or possibly die from scurvy on the way, although I’m thinking Kenton might have meant that as a joke.” She shook her head. “Regardless, I can at least partially understand everyone else’s reasons for risking this. But not yours.”
He looked at her as if trying to resolve a question in his mind, and she felt her cheeks flush again. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth. She should have accepted the gift, smiled pleasantly, and been done with it, rather than acting with all the social graces of a mule.
Is Perchaya ever going to finish peeling that gods-forsaken apple and rescue me?
Jaeme, for his part, looked more amused than upset. She couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. “I’ve got an idea, Dani. May I call you that? It’s probably safer in the open, anyway.”
She blinked at him. Her father had never given her a nickname, nor had anyone except Erich, who called her Ella. She would forever be grateful Jaeme hadn’t thought to shorten her name to that. She gave a noncommittal shrug.
Jaeme smiled. “In the interest of coming to a greater understanding about one another, I’ll tell you something about myself, after which you can tell me something about you.”
“All right.” She shifted uncertainly.
“I don’t believe in the prophecy, or in my having any part in it, as you say, but the truth is, I have a lot of questions. One way or another, this quest—or march towards a scurvy-riddled death, what have you—might provide answers.”
Daniella nodded slowly, taking in his words. “I see.”
“Now it’s your turn.”
Daniella looked over to Perchaya and Nikaenor again, who were eating and laughing about something.
I don’t know what real friends are like, because I don’t think I’ve ever had one.
I’m so scared of my father that I was willing to escape with someone I’m fairly certain has tried to kill me before.
I wish I could be normal. I wish I wasn’t something that destroys and corrupts.
She clenched her fists. The leather book bent slightly in her hands, all but forgotten. She looked up at him and smiled.
“I don’t need any help reading Old Mortichean,” she said. “I’ve been fluent since I was nine. Thank you for the book, Jaeme.”
He probably would have said something, but she strode over to the others without giving him the chance.
As she did so, Daniella kicked herself. He made her so uncomfortable, while most of the others—save Kenton—didn’t. Why was that? It was because she’d met him in her father’s world, she was sure of it. She couldn’t shake the instinct that he wanted something from her—probably because everyone she knew in that world did.
Daniella shuddered to think that her father had damaged her so completely that she couldn’t see a simple gift as kindness, without reading more into it than was there.
Forty
Kenton stalked along the road skirting the harbor, scowling so deeply that people scurried left and right to get out of his way. Here in Berlaith he’d fought alongside Erich, putting down an uprising years after Diamis had first taken the city. Back then, the harbor had been sunken and rotting. Boards of the raised piers frequently gave way, injuring sailors and the vagabonds who slept beneath them at low tide on beds of seaweed. The roads had been mostly dirt, the homes near the shore flooded so frequently that every board from the roofs to the front steps had warped.
Under Diamis, the harbor had been rebuilt of ironwood, which could withstand the ebb and flow of the sea. All the houses
within three blocks of the water were now built on raised platforms, and a ditch lined the road on either side for drainage when the sea rose high. The west side of each house was protected by thick canvas that could be replaced when it became threadbare from the constant pelting of salt and sand, so the wood beneath remained sturdy.
It was all Diamis had promised and more. Progress. Liberation from the corrupt nobility. Rebuilt infrastructure and a flourishing economy. Evidence that none of that had been a lie. It seemed illogical, but knowing that so much of what Diamis promised was true made the deeper lies all the more galling, the illusion that much harder to see through. Even though they didn’t know it, every soldier who killed for him, who threatened for him, who stood on a street corner enforcing Diamis’ law, was complicit. And Kenton knew from experience that the vast majority of them believed they were doing the right thing, which only made it all the worse.
He stalked inland toward the inn where he was to meet his traveling companions. He’d done enough business in Berlaith over the years that he’d been able to call in a few old debts and favors. Between those and selling the horses, he’d garnered enough money to buy them all passage to Tirostaar, while Jaeme had borrowed against his title from a money lender, collecting enough for a night here at the inn before they set sail tomorrow morning, and in preparation for their needs on the island.
Passage back from Tirostaar would likely be another matter. If they failed, they’d all be too dead to take the trip. And if, as Kenton suspected, they had to flee with Nerendal in tow—well, Perchaya was right. There was always another plan to be hatched.
When Kenton arrived at the inn, he found his companions waiting for him out front, as requested. Daniella, thankfully, had the sense to have seated herself on a bench far enough from the street that she wouldn’t draw attention. Perchaya and Nikaenor both greeted Kenton with smiles, though the rest of them looked less enthused to see him. Jaeme’s whining had died down since their duel, but Kenton didn’t fancy that the man liked him.
Which was fine, as long as he did his job and found his gods-damned jewel when it was his turn.
“I got us three rooms,” Jaeme said, “and a meal tonight, as well.”
Kenton sighed. That meant he had to share a room with Jaeme and Nikaenor, while the women would split the other two. Which, inevitably, would leave someone alone with Daniella. But he couldn’t exactly insist on another configuration or demand that one of the rooms remained empty while the women all shared.
Perchaya spoke first. “I can stay with Daniella.”
Sayvil nodded toward Saara. “That puts you with me. If we wake in the night, we won’t need a candle.”
Saara didn’t even chuckle.
Kenton hesitated. He still couldn’t be sure that Diamis didn’t have some control over Daniella, and he didn’t want to leave any of the chosen alone with her. Leaving Perchaya to sleep unprotected in a room with her, though, bothered him most of all.
But the others were already turning away and wandering into the inn, both Saara and Sayvil muttering something about warm baths and soft beds.
They walked through the already bustling common room and up the stairs. Jaeme and Nikaenor slung the group’s belongings into the largest of the rooms and headed in. Kenton, however, motioned at Perchaya to stay in the hall.
She approached him, smiling. “I’m afraid to ask where you got all that money today. Those horses weren’t worth half that.”
“It’s not stolen. But I wanted to talk to you. About Daniella.”
Perchaya’s face turned worried. “What about her?”
Kenton sighed. “I just don’t like the idea of leaving you alone with her.”
“Kenton, I don’t think that she—”
“I know,” he said. “But the things I’ve seen her do . . . we know far too little about what she is. I don’t want to take chances with your life.”
Perchaya put a hand gently on his arm. “Thank you. But really, I think it’ll be all right.”
A sickening image flashed into Kenton’s mind—Perchaya’s still body, a husk, empty of blood like his father’s. Diamis had done it before, using Daniella. There was no telling what it would take for him to do it again. “Just—tell me if anything seems off. Even a little. You can wake me any time of the night.”
Perchaya gave his arm a squeeze. “Okay,” she said, and then she turned to walk into the room she was to share with Daniella. But as Kenton passed the open door to walk into his own, he saw Daniella standing just inside, glaring daggers at him.
Kenton walked into his room, but he felt her following behind, walking right into his room on his heels. Jaeme and Nikaenor looked up from their beds, and Kenton wheeled around on her.
“What?” he asked.
Daniella continued to glare up at him. “What?” she asked. “How can you ask me that? I’ve come with you quietly. I’ve done everything you asked.”
“I asked you not to come with us,” Kenton growled. “I told you to stay behind. The only reason you’re still here is because you’re some kind of weapon Diamis wants, and we can’t afford to leave you. So don’t come crying to me when I’m concerned for the safety of my friends.”
Perchaya stepped into the room behind Daniella, wringing her gloved hands a little, like she wanted to stop this, but didn’t know how.
But no. Kenton had danced around this long enough. Daniella needed to know where she stood. She could come to Tirostaar with them. And they were damned well going to leave her there, far from Diamis’ reach, and far from being able to trouble them any longer.
“I have never threatened anyone’s safety,” Daniella said. “I have done nothing to you.”
Kenton heard Jaeme shifting behind him and hoped he wasn’t about to jump him, but he didn’t want to turn his back on Daniella. Surely Perchaya would warn him if Jaeme was about to do anything drastic.
Saara and Sayvil had been drawn from their room by the noise, though Sayvil had the sense to shut the door behind her as they came in.
Kenton stared at Daniella. “Nothing, you say.”
“Nothing.”
Kenton shook his head slowly. “You remember it your way, Princess. But it doesn’t make it the truth.”
“You’re the one who left me alone in the chamber of a dark god,” Daniella said, her voice shaking. “You’re the one who raised a dead body and then left me kneeling in its blood.”
“What?” Nikaenor asked from behind Kenton, and Kenton could only imagine the wide-eyed look on the boy’s face, as well as on the others.
But Kenton didn’t bother looking at any of them. He kept his glare focused on Daniella. “I didn’t.”
He couldn’t help but see the resemblance of Daniella’s pale face and trembling hands to the scared girl he’d forced through the tunnels all those years ago. It wasn’t an idle accusation. She thought it had been him who raised the body; he’d thought it had been her.
“It was Maldorath,” Kenton said. “Not me. And that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Daniella’s whole frame was shaking now, though with anger or fear, Kenton couldn’t be sure. “What then?” she shouted. “Tell me, Kenton. What do you remember? What in all hells have I ever done to you?”
“You killed my father,” Kenton shouted back.
The room fell eerily silent, all of them staring at him, Daniella included. Kenton tried not to visibly wince. They’d have drawn the attention of everyone in the neighboring rooms by now.
And he was the one always insisting they keep a low profile.
When Daniella managed to suck in a breath, she stammered at him. “I what? I didn’t—you can’t believe that I—”
Kenton swallowed. He hadn’t meant to shout that at her—hadn’t meant to make it a topic for discussion at all. Ever. But now that it was out, there was no taking it back. He drew a deep breath, fi
ghting to keep his voice even. “I watched you kill him,” he said quietly. “I was six years old, hiding in the room. You weren’t much more than a baby, but you pulled all the blood from his body, leaving behind nothing but a shell.”
The others were staring at Kenton, but no one spoke, and no one moved. Daniella stood facing him, gaping. At last, Perchaya crept up beside her and put a hand on her sleeve, but Daniella brushed it aside.
“That—” she said. “That’s not true.”
“It’s true, Princess,” Kenton said. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
Jaeme stepped around Kenton, attempting to get between him and Daniella, though Daniella didn’t allow him the space. “I think you should back off,” Jaeme said.
“Back off?” Kenton asked. “I’m not the one who came in here shouting. I’m not the one who demanded to know what she did to me.”
“Kenton,” Perchaya said.
But Daniella ignored them all, still staring into Kenton’s eyes, her own welling up with tears.
Gods. He was only telling the truth and now she was going to cry about it.
“I don’t remember that,” she said. “I don’t remember killing anyone.”
Guilt stabbed at Kenton. She couldn’t have been more than two years old. Even under normal circumstances, a person wouldn’t remember that. Kenton barely remembered anything from his own life before that day.
He made his voice as calm as he could, even though he wasn’t as successful as he might have hoped. “Perhaps you’re not the murderer. Just the blade. But tell me, how did your father do that to you? How, if he can’t control you? Because either you’re his puppet, or you did that to my father of your own free will, but the blood doesn’t flow both ways.”
Daniella stared at him with a look of horror akin to the one she’d had when Maldorath had spoken to them. Kenton felt guilt but not regret. Someone had to be the one to tell her this. He wasn’t the villain for revealing the truth.
