The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles #1) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,53

carried away in the current of the creek, along with all of its expectations.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE ASSASSIN

I peered through the window. I couldn’t wait much longer. In a few days, my comrades would be here, ready to return to Venda. They’d howl like a pack of dogs if the deed still wasn’t done, eager to be on their way and scornful that I had taken so long over a single small task. One girl’s throat. Even Eben could have managed that.

But it wouldn’t be one girl. I’d have to kill them both.

I watched them sleeping. I had the eyes of a cat, the Komizar claimed, seeing in darkness what no one else could. Maybe that was what destined me for this purpose. Griz was a stomping bull and more suited to the loud work of an ax on a bridge or a bloody daylight raid.

Not for this kind of work. Not for the silent steps of a night animal. Not for becoming a shadow that pounced with swift precision. But they slept in the same bed, their hands touching. Even I couldn’t be that silent. Death made noises of its own.

I looked at Lia’s throat. Open. Exposed. Easy. But this time it wouldn’t be easy.

After the festival. I could wait until then.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE PRINCE

Only their feet were visible beneath the curtain of dripping sheets that hung from the line, but I could hear them well enough. I had come to pay Berdi for my week’s lodging before I left for Luiseveque. It was the nearest town where messages could be sent and the couriers were discreet for a sufficient price.

I paused, looking at Lia’s boots as she went about her work. Dammit, if everything about her doesn’t fascinate me. The leather was worn and dirty, and they were the only shoes I had ever seen her wear. She didn’t seem to care. Maybe growing up with three older brothers gave her different sensibilities from the girls of noble breeding I had known. Either she had never acted like a princess, or she rejected every aspect of being one when she arrived here. She’d have made a miserable fit for the court of Dalbreck, where the protocol of dress was elevated to laborious and religious proportions.

I fumbled for the Morrighan notes in my pocket to give to Berdi. Lia’s hands reached down below the bottom edge of the sheet, and she pulled another piece of wet laundry from the basket. “Were you ever in love, Berdi?” she asked.

I stopped, my hand still shoved in my pocket. Berdi was silent for a long while.

“Yes,” she finally said. “A long time ago.”

“You didn’t marry?”

“No. We were very much in love, though. By the gods, he was handsome. Not in the usual sense. His nose was hooked. His eyes set close. And there wasn’t a lot of hair up on top, but he lit up the room when he walked in. He had what I called presence.”

“What happened?”

Berdi was an old woman, and yet I noticed she sighed as if the memory were fresh. “I couldn’t leave here, and he couldn’t stay. That pretty much tells it all.”

Lia questioned her more, and Berdi told her the man was a stonecutter with a business in the city of Sacraments. He’d wanted her to come away with him, but her mother had passed on, her father was getting older, and she was afraid to leave him alone with the tavern to run.

“Do you regret not going?”

“I can’t think about things like that now. What’s done is done. I did what I had to do at the time.” Berdi’s knobby hand reached down for a handful of pegs.

“But what if—”

“Why don’t we talk about you for a while?” Berdi asked. “Are you still happy with your decision to leave home now that you’ve had some time here?”

“I couldn’t be happier. And once Pauline is feeling better, I’ll be delirious.”

“Even though some people still think the tradition and duty of—”

“Stop! Those are two words I never want to hear again,” I heard Lia say. “Tradition and duty. I don’t care what others think.”

Berdi grunted. “Well, I suppose in Dalbreck they aren’t—”

“And that’s the third word I never want to hear again. Ever! Dalbreck!”

I crumpled the notes in my fist, listening, feeling my pulse rush.

“They were as much a cause of my problems as anyone. What kind of prince—”

Her voice cut off, and there was a long silence. I waited, and finally I heard Berdi say gently, “It’s all right,