LITMIR.BIZ

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heart of a toad. He’d lurked around court ever since his first patron, Lord Orun, had tried to put him in Ki’s place as squire.

      Neither Tobin nor Korin would have anything to do with him, but he’d somehow managed to attach himself to Niryn after Orun’s death, and now it seemed there was no getting rid of the little shit short of poisoning his soup. He was called the wizard’s secretary, and though he seemed to be perpetually at the man’s side like a bleached, moist-eyed shadow, he was still up to his old tricks. He had sharp eyes and long ears and a nasty habit of turning up where he was least expected. It was whispered among the common soldiers that it had been on Moriel’s evidence that Captain Faren had been hanged.

      Lutha caught sight of him now, approaching along the wall walk. Caliel snorted softly, then leaned on the parapet, as if he and Lutha were simply taking in the view.

      Moriel came abreast of them and paused, as if expecting a greeting. Caliel turned his back coldly, and Lutha did the same.

      “Pardon me,” Moriel murmured in that oily, insinuating tone he’d picked up from his time in Lord Orun’s house. “I didn’t mean to intrude on a lovers’ tryst.”

      Caliel watched him walk out of sight, then muttered, “Filthy little ass-licker. One of these days I’ll find an excuse to slit his throat.”

      Lutha elbowed him, nodding at a white-robed figure ghosting across the misty yard just below. It was impossible to tell if it was Niryn or one of his remaining wizards, but it was safest to assume that all of them were spies.

      Caliel stayed silent until the wizard was out of sight. Lutha noticed how he rubbed absently at the golden ring on his right forefinger. It was the hawk ring Tobin had made for him. Caliel still wore it, even now, just as Lutha still wore the horse charm Tobin had made for him.

      “This isn’t the Skala I was raised to fight for,” Caliel muttered.

      Lutha waited for him to add, “This isn’t the Korin I know,” but Caliel just nodded to him and walked away.

      Not yet ready to face his damp bed, Lutha lingered behind. The moon was struggling out from behind the clouds, silvering the sea fog rising over the Osiat. Somewhere out there, beyond the scattered islands, lay Aurënen, and Gedre. He wondered if their friend Arengil was awake there, looking north and wondering about them.

      Lutha still cringed at the memory of the day Erius had caught them giving sword lessons to the girls on the Old Palace roof. Arengil had been sent home in disgrace and Una had disappeared. Lutha wondered if he’d ever see them again. No one handled hawks better than Arengil.

      As he started for the stairs, a flash of movement on the tower balcony caught his eye. Lamps still glowed through the windows there, and he could make out a lone figure looking down at him—Nalia, Consort of Skala. Without thinking, he waved. He thought he saw her return the gesture before she disappeared inside.

      “Good night, Highness,” he whispered. By rights, she was a princess, but in fact she was little better than a prisoner.

      Lutha had spoken with the young woman only once before, the day of her hasty marriage to Korin. Lady Nalia was not pretty, it was true, her plain features marred by a mottled red birthmark that covered one cheek. But she was well-spoken and gracious, and there was a sad pride in her bearing that had pulled at Lutha’s heartstrings. No one knew where Niryn had found a girl of the blood, but Korin and the priests seemed satisfied of her lineage.

      Something wasn’t right, though. Clearly she’d married under duress, and since then she wasn’t allowed out of her tower except for the occasional brief, heavily guarded walk on the battlements at night. She didn’t join them for meals, or go for rides or hunts, like a noblewoman should. Niryn claimed that it wasn’t safe for her to go out, that she was too precious as the last true female heir of the blood, and that the times were too uncertain.

      “Doesn’t it seem a bit odd that she can’t even come down to the hall for supper?” Lutha had asked Caliel. “If she’s not safe there, then things are worse than anyone’s letting on!”

      “It’s not that,” muttered Caliel. “He can’t stand the sight of her, poor thing.”

      Lutha’s heart ached for her. If she’d been stupid, or petty like Korin’s first wife, then he might have been able to forget her in that tower. As it was, he found himself fretting for her, especially when he caught glimpses of her at her window or on her balcony, gazing longingly at the sea.

      He sighed and headed back to his room, hoping Barieus had the bed warmed up for him.

       Chapter 8

      Nalia flinched back from the low parapet and stole a guilty look at Tomara, who sat knitting in the chair by the open door behind her. She hadn’t noticed the young man on the walls below until he’d waved.

      She hadn’t been looking for anyone. She’d been staring down into the paved yard below the tower, gauging yet again whether or not she’d die at once if she jumped. It would be such a simple matter. The parapet was low, hardly up to her waist. She could stand on it, or simply climb over and let go. She didn’t think Tomara was strong enough to stop her.

      A moment’s courage and she would be free from this dishonorable captivity.

      If Lord Lutha hadn’t startled her, she might have managed it tonight. Instead, his brief, friendly gesture had sent her shrinking back from the edge, worrying that Tomara had noticed her impulsive response.

      But she just looked up from her handiwork and smiled. “It’s a chilly night, my lady. Close the door and I’ll make us some tea.”

      Nalia sat at the small writing desk and watched as Tomara set about preparing the pot, but her thoughts strayed back to Lutha’s kind gesture. She pressed a hand to her breast, blinking back tears. How could something as simple as a wave to a stranger in the night make my heart race like this? Perhaps because it had been the closest thing to simple human kindness she’d known in the weeks since this nightmare had descended?

      If I had the courage to go back out and do as I planned, would he still be there to see? Would he be sad that I was dead? Would anyone?

      She doubted it. Korin, and the few servants and guards she was allowed to see—even Niryn—they all called her Consort now, but she was nothing but a prisoner, a pawn in their game. How could such a thing have happened?

      She’d been so happy, growing up in Ilear. But Niryn—the man she’d called guardian, and then lover—he had betrayed her with breathtaking cruelty, and now he expected her thanks.

      “It’s safer here, my darling,” he told her, when he’d first brought her to this awful, lonely place. Nalia had hated it the moment she’d set eyes on it, but she’d tried to be brave. After all, Niryn had promised he could come to her more often.

      But he hadn’t, and a few months later madness took the garrison. One faction of soldiers, the ones with the red hawks on their grey tabards, attacked the Cirna guard. The sounds that came to her window from the yards that night had been horrifying. She’d cowered in her chamber with her nurse and little page, thinking the world was ending.

      Niryn had come that night, but not to save her. With no warning or explanation he’d ushered in an unkempt, hollow-eyed young stranger who stank of blood and sweat and wine.

      Niryn, who’d played with her as a child and taught her the joys of the bedchamber and made her forget her own flawed reflection—that monster had simply smiled and said, “Lady Nalia, allow me to present your new husband.”

      She’d fainted dead away.

      When she’d come around again she was lying on her bed and Prince Korin was sitting there, watching her. He must not have realized she was awake at first, because she caught the look of revulsion on his face just before it disappeared. He, all bloody and stinking, the invader of her chamber,

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