The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles, #1)(9)

To compensate, Sven had always given me double doses of the dirtiest and lowliest jobs of our squad to quell any rumblings about my favored status, from mucking the stables to shining his boots to loading and carrying the dead off the field. I’d never seen resentment in my fellow soldiers’ faces, or heard it on their lips, but I had seen plenty of their pity. An untried soldier, no matter how expertly trained, was no soldier at all.

Sven mounted his horse and rode alongside me. I knew he wouldn’t come far. As much as he blustered about my plans—because he was bound by duty to do just that—he was also obligated by the strong bond we had forged through our years together.

“How will I know where you are?”

“You won’t. Now, that’s a thought, isn’t it?”

“And what shall I tell your parents?”

“Tell them I’ve gone off to the hunting lodge to sulk for the summer. They should like that. A nice safe haven.”

“The whole summer?”

“We’ll see.”

“Something could happen.”

“Yes it could. I hope it does. You’re not making your case any better, you know?”

I watched him out of the corner of my eye, surveying my gear, a sign he was truly resigned to my vanishing into the unknown. If I weren’t heir to the throne, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. He knew he had prepared me for the worst and the unexpected. My skills, at least in training exercises, had been well proved. He grunted, signaling his reluctant approval. Ahead was a narrow ravine where two horses could no longer ride abreast, and I knew that would be his point of departure. The day was already wearing thin.

“Will you confront her?”

“No. I probably won’t even speak to her.”

“Good, better that you don’t. If you do, watch your R’s and L’s. It will peg your region.”

“Already noted,” I said to assure him I’d thought of everything, but that detail had escaped me.

“If you need to send me a message, write it in the old tongue in case it’s intercepted.”

“I won’t be sending any messages.”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell her who you are. A Dalbreck head of state intervening on Morrighan soil could be construed as an act of war.”

“You mistake me for my father, Sven. I’m not a head of state.”

“You’re heir to the throne and your father’s representative. Don’t make matters worse for Dalbreck or your fellow soldiers.”

We rode silently.

Why was I going? What was the point if I wasn’t going to bring her back or even speak to her? I knew these thoughts were spinning in Sven’s head, but it wasn’t what he imagined. I wasn’t angry because she’d thought of bolting before I did. I’d thought of it long ago, when the marriage was first proposed by my father, but he had convinced me the union was for the good of Dalbreck and everyone would look the other way if I chose to take a mistress after the marriage. I was angry because she’d had the courage to do what I hadn’t. Who was this girl who thumbed her nose at two kingdoms and did as she pleased? I wanted to know.

As we neared the ravine, Sven broke the silence. “It’s the note, isn’t it?”

A month before the wedding, Sven had delivered a note to me from the princess. A secret note. It was still sealed when Sven handed it to me. His eyes had never seen the contents. I had read it and ignored it. I probably shouldn’t have.

“No, I’m not going because of a note.” I gave a short tug on the reins and stopped, turning to face him. “You do know, Sven, this isn’t really about Princess Arabella.”

He nodded. It had been a long time coming. He reached out and patted my shoulder and then turned his horse back toward Dalbreck without another word. I continued down the ravine, but after a few miles, I reached into my vest and pulled the note from the inner pocket. I looked at the hastily scrawled letters. Not exactly a royal missive.

I should like to inspect you

before our wedding day.

I tucked the note back into my pocket.

And so she shall.





There is one true history

And one true future.

Listen well,

For the child sprung from misery

Will be the one to bring hope.

From the weakest will come strength.

From the hunted will come freedom.


—Song of Venda





CHAPTER FOUR


THE ASSASSIN



I’d gladly do it myself, but I need to return to my duties in Venda. You’ll be in and out in a day. She’s only a royal, after all. You know how they are. And only seventeen at that. How hard could it be to find her?

I had smiled at the Komizar’s summation of royals, but an answer wasn’t necessary. We both knew it would be easy. A panicked prey doesn’t worry about leaving a messy trail. The Komizar had done my job many times. He was the one who had trained me.

If it will be easy, why can’t I go? Eben had complained.

This job is not for you, I had told him. Eben was eager to prove himself. He was skilled with both their language and a knife, and being small and barely twelve, he could pass for a child, especially with his mournful brown eyes and cherub face, which had the advantage of disarming suspicions. But there was a difference between killing in battle and slitting a girl’s throat as she slept. He wasn’t ready for it. He might hesitate when he saw her startled eyes. That was the hardest moment, and there could be no hesitation. No second chances. The Komizar had made that clear.