A few days’ rest was prescribed for Griz too, but Tavish and Kaden had minor wounds that would only bring them discomfort for a day or so and required no restricted duty. The surgeon had somehow missed the news that Kaden wasn’t one of ours and assumed he was another soldier.
“Those two can go shower,” the surgeon said. “I’ll bandage them after they’ve cleaned up.” He went back to check on Griz.
Kaden was in the rear of the bungalow in dim light, but as he reached for his shirt, he stepped into the light from the window and I saw his back and the short line of black thread where the surgeon had stitched him. Then I saw the scars. Deep ones. He’d been whipped.
He turned and saw me staring.
His chest was equally scarred.
He paused, and then slipped his shirt on as if it was of no matter.
“Old injuries?” I asked.
“Yes. Old.”
How old? I wondered, but his clipped reply made it clear he didn’t want to elaborate. He was about my age, so old injuries could mean he’d been little more than a child when he acquired them. I remembered Lia mumbling that he was once Morrighese, but she was feverish and half asleep when she’d said it, and I thought the possibility was unlikely. Still, if he had been beaten that severely by Vendans, I couldn’t understand how he had remained so loyal to them. He finished buttoning his shirt.
“I have some soldiers outside who will show you where the showers are. They’ll give you some fresh clothes too.”
“Guards, you mean?”
I couldn’t let him walk around freely, not only because I still didn’t trust him completely, but for his own protection as well. News of the platoon’s slaughter had spread through camp. Any kind of Vendan, even one the king said could be moderately trusted, was not welcome here.
“Let’s call them escorts,” I answered. “You remember that word, don’t you? I promise you, your escorts will be far more congenial than Ulrix and his pack of brutes were with me.”
He eyed his belt and sword still lying on a table.
“And you’ll have to leave those behind.”
“I saved your royal ass today.”
“And I’m saving your Vendan one right now.”
* * *
Normally when I had been assigned to Marabella, I had slept in the barracks with the rest of the soldiers, but the colonel said it wasn’t fitting now that I was king. You have to start acting the role, he insisted, and Sven concurred. They ordered a tent set up for me. Tents were reserved for visiting ambassadors and dignitaries who used the outpost as a stopping point. They were larger, more extravagant, and certainly more private than the crowded barracks that housed the soldiers.
I had ordered one set up for Lia as well, and let myself inside her tent to make sure everything was in order. A thick floral carpet had been rolled out across the floor, and her bed was fully made with blankets, furs, and a surplus of pillows. A round stove was stocked with fuel and ready to go, and an oil chandelier was hung for light.
And flowers. A small vase overflowed with some kind of purple flower. The colonel must have sent a whole squad out to scour the merchant wagons for them. A colorful pitcher of water was on a lace-covered table, along with a crock of shortbread next to it. I popped one into my mouth and replaced the lid. No detail had been overlooked. Her tent was far better appointed than mine. Of course the colonel had known I would check to make sure she was comfortable.
I spotted her saddlebag on the floor next to her bed. I’d told the stable hand to bring it as soon as her tent was ready. It, too, was stained with blood. Maybe that was why he’d left it on the floor. I emptied the contents onto the bedside table so I could take it with me to be cleaned. I wanted to erase every reminder of the day that was behind us.
I sat on her bed and thumbed through one of the books from her bag. It was one she had told me about, the Song of Venda. The one that mentioned the name Jezelia. I lay back and sank into the soft mattress, looking at words that made no sense to me. How could she be certain of what they said? She wasn’t a scholar. I remembered her expression back in the Sanctum when she tried to explain the importance of it to me.
Maybe it isn’t chance that I’m here.
A chill had crept up my neck when she said those words. I’d hated the way Venda—woman or kingdom—was playing on her fears, but I remembered the crowds too, and the way they grew each day. There was something unnatural about it, something that didn’t feel right to me, something that even the Komizar couldn’t control.
I laid the book aside. It was behind us now. The Sanctum, Venda, everything. Including Griz’s ridiculous notion of her being his queen. We’d be on our way to Dalbreck soon. I cursed the fact that we couldn’t leave right away. The colonel couldn’t spare an escort large enough to please Sven, but he said he expected a rotation of troops to arrive in a few days and we could leave safely with the departing troops. In the meantime, he’d ordered the falconer to send a swift trio of Valsprey to Falworth with news of my safety and my imminent return.
He said that would also give him time to update me on matters at court. Prepare me—those were the warning words I saw in his eyes—even if he didn’t say them. My return to court was not going to be easy. I knew that. I was still trying to absorb the knowledge that my worst fears had been realized. Both my mother and father were dead, and they had died not knowing the fate of their only son. Guilt riddled through me. But they knew I loved them. They knew that much.
We agreed to wait until tomorrow after I was rested to discuss the details of my parents’ deaths and everything that had transpired since. The cabinet would be furious when they learned where I had been and the risks I had taken. It was going to take some work to regain their confidences.
But Lia was alive, and I would do it all again if I had to. Sven and the others understood. Once the cabinet met her, they would understand too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE