by Erin Beaty
Dearest Sage,
I can never express my gratitude for what you have done in protecting my son from harm. He has told us the story many times, and we all look forward to hearing your more modest account of events, but I suspect that will have to wait. You have more important duties now, which will serve the realm as a whole, but we will miss you all the same. Please remember that if there is anything I can do for you, you need only ask, as I am forever in your debt.
Most Sincerely,
Orianna March Devlin
The other paragraphs scrawled at the bottom were from Rose and Carinthia, begging her to remember them fondly, with a heavy hint from Rose that she was more than willing to visit, should Sage feel lonely. They were all referring to what must be on the official scroll, which Sage now realized she should’ve read first. A knot formed in her stomach as she unrolled a royal proclamation.
Following the permanent retirement of Ambassador Lord Gramwell, Mistress Sage Fowler is hereby requested by His Majesty, King Raymond II, to serve as Ambassador to the Nation of Casmun, effective immediately, representing the crown in matters concerned with opening and establishing trade routes and laws, judging matters of Demoran citizens in Casmun, representing Demoran interests, and maintaining open and clear communication between our nations. For the time being, the post shall reside at the Fortress of Vinova near the boundary of the two lands, and all honors and necessities shall be provided for the office and its duties.
Signed,
H.M. Raymond II
Sage froze with the letter in her hands. The honor and trust of the position were dizzying, but her heart sank, and she looked up with tears in her eyes.
Alex had his mouth scrunched to one side as he read his orders. “Pretty much what I expected. Back to the capital for more recruits and then out for training. He wants to expand the Norsari to a full battalion by next summer. Must be why the promotion.” He handed the orders to Cass and frowned at her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s named me ambassador to Casmun.”
“But that’s wonderful,” Alex said, grabbing the paper to read it himself. His face fell as he read it. “Vinova,” he whispered.
Sage shook her head. “I’m not going with you.”
Casseck was reading the Norsari’s orders aloud to those in the tavern to great enthusiasm, but neither Sage nor Alex paid the noise any attention. Without a word, Alex took her by the hand and led her upstairs to her room, then bolted the door behind him and wrapped her in his arms.
“I thought we’d be together until at least Tennegol,” she choked.
Alex rubbed her back and laid his cheek on top of her head. “Me too.”
“I hate this!”
“I know, but it’s too late for me to take up farming now.”
Sage laughed weakly and wiped her eyes on his shirt, breathing him in. Spirit above, they only had hours left.
“The decision is yours,” Alex whispered. “But you can turn it down. You’ve already given so much.”
She snorted. “You know I won’t. Not when the kingdom needs me.”
“Both kingdoms need you, yes. I know. It was just wishful thinking.” He continued holding her against him.
“I’ll keep Clare with me—I ought to have a companion, and she knows so much already. She can’t be sent back to her father. He’s awful. He’ll have her married off to someone else within a month.”
“I’ll tell Uncle Raymond. I’m sure he’ll be fine with it.”
“And Alex?” Her fingers curled around folds in his shirt. “Stay with me tonight. Please. We only have a few hours left.”
He swallowed. “All right. Just promise me…”
She nodded. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
“Well.” Alex smiled crookedly, and her heart skipped a beat. “I wouldn’t mind if you were a little bad.”
EPILOGUE
A FEW DAYS AFTER the battle, Huzar led all the Kimisar survivors he could gather across the southern pass. He’d approached the Casmuni camp alone, after it was all over, carrying a makeshift flag of truce, and asked for Captain Quinn. When the Demoran met him, he recognized Huzar immediately and called for his cloak to be brought to him. That had been the last thing Huzar expected, but he accepted it with a thank-you.
“No,” Quinn had said. “Thank you.”
Huzar folded the cloak over his tattooed arm. “Will she live?”
A ripple of pain had passed over the Demoran’s features. “We can only hope right now. She’s strong, though.”
Huzar smiled a little before clearing his throat. “I’ve come to request the release of my countrymen, that they may return home.”
Quinn crossed his arms. “And why should I allow that?”
“Please,” Huzar said simply. “We’re only soldiers following orders. Surely you can understand that.” He waved an arm back at the pass. “The threat is gone. Let us go home.”
Quinn eyed him for several seconds. “Your Demoran is quite good.”
“Yes, I’ve spent a great deal of time in your country.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Apparently so.”
Huzar looked down at his hands. “We were abandoned and stranded by your D’Amirans. Everything I’ve done in the past year was to return to Kimisara. I could not call myself a commander if I didn’t always do my best to bring my men home.”
Finally Quinn had nodded. “I will speak to King Banneth.”
In the end, the Casmuni king turned the prisoners over, and Huzar led them and the other survivors he’d found back into Kimisara, expecting to return to a nation in even more ruin than when he’d left almost two years ago, but there was nowhere else to go. At least he could not be expected to return to war. Most of the army had dissolved once word got out that King Ragat had been tossed from his horse and trampled in the rush to get away from the molten river of fire.
Huzar and the survivors traveled slowly, carrying many wounded. They skirted the smoldering wall of black glass by using the rocky ledge above, but then followed the canyon through the mountains, not even bothering to set a rear guard. At the end of the pass, they found a supply train that had been abandoned and scavenged. As no one of higher rank was present, Huzar took responsibility for releasing the Kimisar with him from their military obligations.
He then allowed himself a couple days to rest and scrounge supplies from the wreckage of the wagons before setting off with a few companions. Harvest time was approaching, and surely the place he should be was home. Three days out, he was met on the road by royal troops. When they learned who Huzar was and where he’d been, they escorted him to the seat of the local barony, where regional judgments were made.
For the first time in his life, Huzar was faced with royalty. Nearing thirty, Queen Zoraya had been half her husband’s age and still had the bloom of youth, with gold-bronze skin and hair so black it almost had a sheen of blue. Up close, one could see the lines in her face from the strain of years of barrenness, and then having only one child to shield her from being disposed of as Ragat’s two previous wives had been. Her son was now only five, and heir to a land of ashes.
“My husband’s ministers do not see fit to tell me all that has happened,” she said, gripping the arms of the chair set up as a makeshift throne. “Perhaps you can shed some light on events.”
Huzar told her everything that had happened since he’d left Kimisara. Though he knew nothing about the man, he heaped praise on King Ragat and his bravery in battle, but the queen snorted and rolled her eyes. When his tale finally ended, Zoraya stood and paced in front of him on the dais.
“You’ve been a most loyal son of Kimisara, Captain. I can never truly repay either the service you’ve rendered or your honesty to me now.”
“I live only to serve, My Queen,” he said.
She stopped in front of him. “You must understand how precarious my position is. My son is king, and I may be regent by law, but I am flouted at every turn by those would usurp my position a
nd take power for themselves.”
“What is it My Queen wishes of me?”
“The country is recovering from the famine, but the king’s death and the failure of his campaign may throw it back into chaos. I need to project strength and create stability. I need men of honesty and loyalty.” She held out her right hand, her sapphire-blue eyes piercing his soul. “May I count on your service?”
Huzar stared at the bejeweled rings on every finger of the queen’s smooth hand. “May I first ask what My Queen plans to do? Forgive me, but I cannot see where a mere captain can assist.”
The hand dropped. “I will first sue for peace with Demora and Casmun. This fighting must stop. You, who have such wide knowledge of both nations, will attend this process, but you will be loyal to me, not the ministers or generals. I need your help to keep them from going behind my back and undermining my goals. Now.” She raised her hand again. “May I count on you?”
Let this end. Let this be done.
Let me go home.
Huzar trembled as he knelt and took the hand she offered, kissing the four-pointed star of Kimisara on the ring on her middle finger. “Until death, My Queen.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This second book was much harder than the first, but I stuck it out, and you, dear reader, stuck with me. I’m honored. A special thanks to reviewers who were kind but held me accountable on many levels, and to the fans who emailed me in the middle of the night. Oh, and the fan art … I can’t believe what people have made! For me! (Dang it, there’s dust in my eyes.)
As before, big props to the Father of all, and my personal heavenly cheerleaders, Dymphna and Francis, though to paraphrase St. Teresa, I really wish y’all didn’t feel the need to prove to me that I could handle this much stress. Deo gratias.
My publishing angels on earth are led by the best agent that ever waded through the slush, Valerie Noble, who swept away the cobwebs, untangled plot threads, and talked me off of metaphorical ledges in addition to all the normal contract stuff. I’m sorry I said you were short. I thought you knew I had no tact. Then there’s Rhoda and Nicole—I’m finally not hyperventilating when we talk on the phone. Thanks for your patience in the deadlines I missed and the steaming mess of a manuscript I had to clean up. I promise to learn from my mistakes. I bow to copy master Alexei Esikoff; and Natalie, you made not one, but two beautiful covers. I can’t wait to see the third.
Last time, I didn’t get a chance to thank all the wonderful Fierce Reads people who gave me the life-changing opportunity to tour with them. Brittany, Amanda, and Ashley especially made everything wonderful. I think of you ladies with heart-eyes. My tour buddies Taran Marathu and Scott Westerfeld were both intimidating and fun to hang with, and I learned so much from both. I only wish I lived in that parallel universe where Kristen Orlando was able to make it. (Read her books, y’all, even if Reagan’s boyfriend is a West Pointer. No one’s perfect.)
The circle of readership was much smaller for this book due to time constraints, but it includes the old friends Kim, Caroline, Amy, Kammy, Dan, El Deeferino (since you’re not into the whole brevity thing), and the Class of 2017 Debut support network, plus some new friends, especially the lovely dragon writer Laurie, who inspires me with her enthusiasm, her resilience, and her ability to disconnect from social media for long chunks of time. Thanks to Mom for bragging about me all forty years of my life, and Dad for teaching me how to stab people. Special shout-out to Doctor Kate, who provided lots of gross info on burns. All my wonderful friends and family who supported me with little messages and gifts, came to see me on tour, and told anyone about me who would listen: there are way, way too many of you to name, but you have all been more important to my sanity than you’ll ever know.
There were two special readers who took the time to help me get the things right that I never would have seen: Ashley Woodfolk and Joshua Gabriel Lontoc. I am eternally in your debt.
As much as I talked about suffering through this, I didn’t keep the suffering to myself. I’m generous like that. So to my kids, I’m sorry for ignoring you and knowing more about imaginary people’s lives than your own these past few months. I’ll make it up to you, but don’t ask for Chick-fil-A or pizza because you’ll get plenty when I’m working on the next book. Thank you for telling everyone how cool you think your mom is.
And Michael. It’s funny how I can’t find adequate words when it’s your turn, but fortunately we’re psychotically linked so you always know what I’m thinking, which is usually that I need a nap. I love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Erin Beaty was born and raised in Indianapolis, Indiana, which means she can’t drive a tractor, but she won’t eat veggies that come from a can. She graduated from the US Naval Academy with a degree in rocket science and somehow always ended up writing her study group’s lab reports. After serving in the fleet as a weapons officer and a leadership instructor, it still amazes her when other people want to hear the stories that come out of her head. She and her husband have five children, two cats, and a vegetable garden and live wherever the navy tells them to go. The Traitor’s Kiss is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Map
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2018 by Erin Beaty
A part of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
fiercereads.com
All rights reserved.
CHERISH MY FRIEND RAISE A TO YOUR HEALTH
THIS BOOK AND KNOW I TOAST
MISTREAT MY FIEND HOPE YOUR ALWAYS BURNS
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017958064
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Imprint logo designed by Amanda Spielman
First hardcover edition, 2018
eBook edition, July 2018
eISBN 978-1-250-14226-9
