in a cobalt-and-ruby coat, tapping her booted foot on the smooth rock floor as she peered up at them. Nesryn forced herself to keep still, to endure that sweeping stare. The young woman’s twin braids, tied with bands of red leather, fell well past her breasts, and she brushed one over a shoulder as she said, “Look who decided to give up his fur muff and oiled baths to join us once more.”
Nesryn schooled her face into careful calm. But Sartaq just dropped Kadara’s reins, the prince giving Nesryn a distinct I told you so look before he said down to the girl, “Don’t pretend that you haven’t been praying I bring back more of those pretty silk slippers for you, Borte.”
Nesryn bit her lip to keep from smiling, though the others certainly showed no such restraint as their chuckles rumbled off the dark stones.
Borte crossed her arms. “I suppose you’d know where to buy them, since you’re so fond of wearing them yourself.”
Sartaq laughed, the sound rich and merry.
It was an effort not to gawk. He had not made such a laugh, not once, at the palace.
And when had she last made such a bright sound? Even with her aunt and uncle, her laughter had been restrained, as if some invisible damper lay over her. Perhaps long before that, stretching back to days when she was only a city guard with no idea what crawled through the sewers of Rifthold.
Sartaq smoothly dismounted Kadara and offered a hand to help Nesryn down.
It was the hand he lifted that made the dozen or so gathered notice her—study her. None more closely than Borte.
Another shrewd, weighing look. Seeing the leathers, but none of the features that marked her as one of them.
She’d dealt with the judgment of strangers long before now—this was nothing new. Even if she now stood in the gilded halls of Altun, amongst the rukhin.
Ignoring Sartaq’s offered hand, Nesryn forced her stiff body to smoothly slide one leg over the saddle and dismounted herself. Her knees popped at the impact, but she managed to land lightly, and didn’t let herself touch her hair—which she was certain was a rat’s nest despite her short braid.
A faint gleam of approval entered Borte’s dark eyes just before the girl jerked her chin toward Nesryn. “A Balruhni woman in the leathers of a rukhin. Now, there’s a sight.”
Sartaq didn’t answer. He only glanced in Nesryn’s direction. An invitation. And challenge.
So Nesryn slipped her hands into the pockets of her close-fitting pants and sauntered to the prince’s side. “Will it be improved if I tell you I caught Sartaq filing his nails this morning?”
Borte stared at Nesryn, blinking once.
Then she tipped back her head and howled.
Sartaq threw an approving yet beleaguered glance in Nesryn’s direction before saying, “Meet my hearth-sister, Borte. Granddaughter and heir of my hearth-mother, Houlun.” He reached between them to tug one of Borte’s braids. She batted his hand away. “Borte, meet Captain Nesryn Faliq.” He paused for a breath, then added, “Of the Royal Guard of Adarlan.”
Silence. Borte’s arched dark brows rose.
An aging man in rukhin leathers pressed forward. “But what is more unusual: that a Balruhni woman is their captain, or that a captain of Adarlan has ventured so far?”
Borte waved the man off. “Always the idle chatter and questions with you,” she scolded him. And to Nesryn’s shock, the man winced and shut his mouth. “The real question is …” A sly grin at Sartaq. “Does she come as emissary or bride?”
Any attempt at a steady, cool, calm appearance vanished as Nesryn gaped at the girl. Right as Sartaq snapped, “Borte.”
Borte gave a downright wicked grin. “Sartaq never brings such pretty ladies home—from Adarlan or Antica. Be careful walking around the cliff edges, Captain Faliq, or some of the girls here might give you a shove.”
“Will you be one of them?” Nesryn’s voice remained unruffled, even if her face had heated.
Borte scowled. “I should think not.” Some of the others laughed again.
“As my hearth-sister,” Sartaq explained, leading Nesryn toward the cluster of low-backed chairs near the lip of the fire pit, “I consider Borte a blood relative. Like my own sister.”
Borte’s devilish grin faded as she fell into step alongside Sartaq. “How fares your family?”
Sartaq’s face was unreadable, save for the faint flicker in those dark eyes. “Busy,” was all he said. A nonanswer.
But Borte nodded, as if she knew his moods and inclinations well, and kept quiet while Sartaq escorted Nesryn into a carved and painted wooden