After the feast, Princess Kelena vanished again, but her single appearance remained the talk of the court for weeks afterward.

  Each time he saw the hair ribbon on his desk, Clarencio came back to their conversation, trying to wring some new understanding from it. Had she been placed at the feast as a goad? An indication from Hazerial that he was getting impatient? Had the king thought the girl’s beauty would appeal enough to Clarencio to make him reckless? Was it nearing time to spring the treason trap, and all that remained was for the Lord of the Cinterlands to stumble into his own noose?

  Perhaps her presence at the feast had been something entirely different, something that had nothing to do with Clarencio at all. Perhaps Kelena had won some point with the queen or accomplished some blood-soaked task for the strong gods to be allowed to join society for a day.

  He was getting nothing but a headache for all his guesswork, and in truth, he needed to focus more on his work in the Hall of Law than trying to discern the twisted motives of an Eketra-blessed king.

  Things with the other lords had become more heated than ever of late; a captive in a shipment from the pirate war had broken loose and murdered his fellow future bloodslaves on their way to the sacramental before killing himself. The lords with sacramentals in their holdings were convinced that heavier shackles, thicker chains, and stronger cages were the solution—and they all wanted the iron delivered immediately.

  None of them wanted to hear that iron took time to transport, especially now that the roads were lousy with highwaymen and ice was filling in the river. They certainly didn’t want to hear it from a lord known to despise the slave trade who was nevertheless growing wealthier off their demands.

  Despite the rising tensions, no assassins had attacked Clarencio since the night in his Siu Rial residence, and no indication had ever been found of the lord or cabal of lords the man may have been working for. Half a year had passed; his servants were finally beginning to calm down again.

  Then, early one evening, a scream and a crash woke him from a sound sleep.

  Clarencio snatched his walking stick and climbed out of bed, careful to land on his good leg. He hitched his way awkwardly to the chamber door, slipping the rapier from the cane as he went.

  The rapier was his one concession to the attack, a design he’d sent to a trusted smith back at Blazing Prairie. The blade fitted neatly into the walking stick; the hilt was the handle. Sheathed, the cripple’s aid gave no indication of the weapon hidden within.

  Thankfully, it had arrived at Siu Carinal with that last shipment of iron. He wasn’t in any rush to blood the thing, but he didn’t want to be caught empty-handed again either.

  Clarencio threw open the door to find Loria, the maid who usually brought his evening breakfast, standing alongside a Helat messenger. The two of them were staring down at a corpse lying in a pool of steaming coffee and blood, the floor around the dead man littered with cups, cheese, cold ham, and bread. The serving tray dangled weakly from Loria’s fingers.

  The messenger knelt down and pulled a blue glass dagger from the dead man’s eye.

  “They do not get past me often,” the Helat said in heavily accented Khinesian. “Your adversaries gain cunning.”

  Loria pressed a shaking hand to her lips. She must have seen the Helat with the knife and thought she was done for.

  “You’re all right, everything is all right.” Clarencio patted the maid on the arm. Pain thrummed up his leg. He needed to get off it. He was also embarrassingly aware that he was naked. Why couldn’t assassins attack in the middle of the night when he was fully dressed and prepared for a fight? “Find Jarik. He’ll take care of this.”

  Her wide eyes rolled warily to the Helat. “But, your lordship, the…”

  “It will be fine. He was protecting us.” That was certainly how it appeared, anyway. Clarencio locked gazes with the messenger. Like his fellow Children of Day, the man’s eyes were painfully bright. Green this time, though Clarencio had so far seen blue, purple, and hazel. “Go find Jarik.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Loria dipped a nervous bow and skirted around the body, breaking into a run before she reached the end of the corridor.

  The Helat slipped his throwing knife into his cloak, storing it somewhere in the depths.

  Clarencio sheathed his walking stick. “If you’ll allow me a moment to dress, I have a few questions.”

  By the time Clarencio was dressed and ready to talk with the Helat, Jarik had brought in a pair of coachmen to drag the body away and a handful of servants were working to restore the hallway.

  “You spoke as if you’ve stopped assassins coming into my residence before,” Clarencio began.

  That was too much for the man’s limited Khinesian.

  “My cunning adversaries,” Clarencio tried again. “You have stopped more of them?”

  The Helat nodded. “You are not loved.”

  A whopping understatement. “How many more have you killed?”

  The man struggled with the language, then held up two fingers. “You say ‘twice’ for this?”

  “Two. Both here in Siu Carinal?” Clarencio did his best to indicate the city.

  “Here and between. In conveyance from the City of Blood. I am sent to watch.”

  “To watch and to kill assassins?”

  “The khalif says you are a good Khinet-born. The others kill you. I watch to stop them.”

  “You were sent to guard me?”

  “You are not loved,” the Helat repeated.

  Clarencio huffed a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

  That didn’t translate.

  “Why does the khalif care whether I live or die?” he asked instead.

  “You wish for good. You speak for good. I see this, I tell the khalif. You will see the khalif.”

  “That’s certainly the thrust of our negotiations.”

  The man shook his head. “You will see the khalif. In spring, we convey you from the border. You will see the khalif in summer.”

  Clarencio frowned. “I haven’t heard this. No message has come saying that the khalif has agreed to see me.”

  “This is why I come this night.” The Helat tapped his chest. “I am the message. No parchment, only words. You will see the khalif.”

  “He’s agreed to meet with me?” Clarencio couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Shouldn’t believe what he was hearing. Everything else had been carried out on paper. The sudden change made no sense. “How do I know this is the truth?”

  The Helat reached into his cloak again and pulled out a ring. The signet on top matched the seals on every missive he’d received.

  “The khalif allows you to take this to your sovereign as proof.”

  ***

  Clarencio met with the king that same midnight.

  “We knew you were the only one we could trust to succeed at this,” Hazerial said, turning the signet ring over in his hand.

  “I’m to leave for the border at the first spring thaw, Your Majesty. An envoy from the Helat will meet me at the Salt River crossing to convey me through their territory. With your permission, I’ll go to Blazing Prairie as soon as possible to set affairs in order for my extended absence.”

  “Before you go, Lord Clarencio, you’ll set affairs in order here, in the Hall of Law. You will see the last iron shipment fulfilled before the weather turns, whatever losses you may incur. We expect a large influx of bloodslaves by spring, and the sacramentals must be prepared.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Clarencio shifted his weight despite knowing he wouldn’t find a more comfortable position. Even after an evening impatiently massaging liniment into his leg so that he could be here, the appendage felt as if it were crawling with burning maggots. The king hadn’t invited him to sit, and he doubted that was an accidental oversight.

  In his mind’s eye, he could see the purple ribbon on his writing desk and the princess’s pleading gaze.

  “I had hoped that I would take my bride with me when I left,” he ventured.

  Hazerial smiled down at the signet.

  “It was our fondest hope that our daughter would travel into the Kingdom of Day with you, Lord Clarencio. Our ambassador must have his wife with him.” He tossed the ring up and caught it, snapping his long fingers shut like a trap. “However, the daughter of a king cannot be given away like some tanner’s brat, with a shout and a shivaree. The arrangements for a spectacle such as a royal wedding must take time.”

  Clarencio twisted his walking stick, the tip grinding against the stone floor. Language had never been added to the marriage contract to include their agreement about the Helat, so he couldn’t claim the king was defaulting.

  Two reasons to move for every Josean-blessed swordsman and at least five for every Eketra-blessed king.

  “When should I expect the wedding to take place?” Clarencio asked. “My household will need time to prepare as well.”

  “During the Festival of Springlight, at Shamasa Redoubt, a night’s ride from your meeting place with the Helat. We trust that you will have arrived at the border by Springlight?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The king must have sensed his hesitation. “If you have doubts, we give you leave to speak them now.”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, it’s only that an active fortress is hardly the first setting to come to mind for something as extravagant as a royal wedding.”

  Hazerial chuckled. “For the union that could very well bring peace with our most ancient of enemies? Lord Clarencio, I cannot think of a more fitting location than a stronghold that has watched the war play out these many centuries.”