“That’s where you got all the scars? Not in Venda?”
“A very long time ago.”
He eyed me as if trying to figure out how old I must have been.
“I was eight the first time I was whipped,” I said. “The beatings lasted for a couple of years until I was taken to Venda. It was the Komizar who saved me.”
“Being the fine fellow that he is.” He studied me, chewing the corner of his lip. This revelation probably didn’t improve his regard for me. “Those are deep scars. I’m guessing you remember every lash. And now you suddenly want to help Morrighan?”
I leaned back on my elbows and smiled. “Always suspicious, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Tactician. It’s my job.”
“Tell you what, I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer one of mine.”
His chin dipped in agreement, waiting for my question.
“Why are you really here? Your king could have sent any squad to escort the princess to the border of her kingdom. Why his top officers? Was it only so you could escort her back
to Dalbreck once she came to her senses? And if she didn’t, to force her back?”
Tavish smiled. “Your answer isn’t so important to me after all,” he said, and left.
As Tavish walked away, I watched Lia stride toward me, with dusty riding leathers and a smudged face. Three weapons hung from her sides, and she looked more like a soldier than a princess, though in truth, I wasn’t even sure what a princess should look like. She had never fit any image I had conjured of one. Royal. How easily I had disparaged the title when the only nobility I had ever really known was my father, the esteemed Lord Roché of County Düerr. His line went all the way back to Piers, one of the first Holy Guardians, affording him an elevated status and special favor among nobility, if not the gods themselves. My mother had told me of my ancestry once. I had worked hard to forget it and prayed I had gotten all of her blood and none of his.
Lia paused, lifting Walther’s baldrick over her head and laid it down on her bedroll, then unbuckled her other belt that held two knives, dropping it with the rest of her gear. She stretched her arms overhead as if she was working a knot loose in her back, then surprised me by plopping down beside me. She gazed across the hills and woods that obscured the horizon and setting sun, as if she could see all the miles that still lay ahead of us.
“No knives to sharpen?” I asked.
Her cheek dimpled. “Not tonight,” she said, still gazing out at the hills. “I need to rest. We can’t keep this pace up, or the horses will give out before we do.”
I looked at her skeptically. Jeb and I had said almost those exact same words to her this morning, and she had only answered us both with a scathing look of contempt.
“What’s changed since this morning?”
She shrugged. “Pauline and I were terrified when we rode from Civica, but eventually we stopped looking over our shoulders and started looking for the blue bay of Terravin. That’s what I need to do now. Only look forward.”
“It’s that simple?”
She stared through the trees, her eyes clouded in thought. “Nothing is ever simple,” she finally said. “But I have no other choice. Lives depend on it.”
She shifted on the blanket and faced me fully. “Which is why we need to talk.”
She shot questions at me, one after another, a methodical urgency to them. Now I knew at least some of what occupied her thoughts as she rode. I confirmed her suspicion that the Komizar would begin marching after first thaw. As I doled out answers, I realized how little I actually had to give her. It made me see that, for all of my conspiring with the Komizar, he had kept me in the dark more than he had confided in me. I had never been a true partner in this plan of his, only one of many to help him accomplish it.
“There must be other traitors besides the Chancellor and Royal Scholar. Didn’t you deliver any other messages?”
“I only delivered the one message when I was thirteen. He mostly kept me out of Civica altogether. I tracked down deserters, or he sent me to deliver retribution to outlying garrisons.”
She chewed on her lip for a moment, then asked me something odd. She wanted to know if we would pass any place where messages could be sent.
“Turquoi Tra. There’s a relay post of messengers there. They’re fast but costly. Why?” I asked.
“I might want to write home.”
“I thought you said the Chancellor would intercept all messages.”
A fierce glint shone in her eyes. “Yes. He will.”