he stood, grabbing my cloak from a hook. “You’ll need this,” he said, and he put it around my shoulders, taking his time as he fastened it at my neck. I bristled when his knuckle grazed my jaw.
“What did I do to deserve all these kind attentions?” I asked.
“Jezelia,” he said, shaking his head. “Always so suspicious.” He lifted my chin so I had to look in his eyes. “Come. Let me show you Venda.”
* * *
I was astonished that it felt good to be on a horse again. Even though we moved slowly through winding streets, every sway on the back of the horse held the promise of open spaces, meadows, and freedom—that is, if I ignored who rode next to me. He kept his horse close to mine, and I could feel his watchful eye, not just on me but on everyone we passed. Their inquisitive stares were plain. They had heard of the princess prisoner of Morrighan. “Push back your cloak a bit. Let them view your vest.” I looked at him uncertainly but did as he asked. He had seemed angry with Kaden about how his coin was spent, but now he seemed absorbed by it.
I was being paraded, though I was uncertain why. Only a little over a week ago, he had marched me through the Sanctum in front of his Council, barefoot and half naked in a burlap sack that could barely be called a dress. That I understood: demean the royal and take her power away. Now it was as though he was giving it back, but I felt in the deepest part of my gut that the Komizar never gave up even the smallest fistful of power.
You have been welcomed by the clan of Meurasi. Was a welcome something even the Komizar didn’t know how to navigate? Or maybe it was simply his intent to control it.
We meandered through the Brightmist quarter, which was at the northernmost part of the city. He seemed to be in particularly good spirits as we rode through the streets, calling out to shopkeepers, soldiers, or a patty clapper scooping up horse manure to be patted into fuel, because, as I had learned, even wood was not easy to come by in Venda and dried horse dung burned warmly.
He told me we were headed to a small hamlet about an hour away, but he didn’t tell me for what purpose. He was an imposing figure in the saddle, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze, his black riding leathers gleaming under a hazy sky. He had saved Kaden. I tried to imagine the person he had been, almost a boy himself when he had lifted a child to his horse and whisked him away to safety. Then he went back to butcher Kaden’s tormentors.
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“A name?”
“One that you were born with. Given by your parents. Besides Komizar,” I clarified, though I thought my question was obvious. Apparently it wasn’t.
He thought for a moment and answered stiffly, “No. Only Komizar.”
We passed through an unguarded gate at the end of the lane. Sparse brown meadowlands spread out before us, and we left the crowded, smoky, mud-soaked avenues of the city behind us.
“We’ll have to ride faster,” he said. “I’m told you ride well. But maybe that’s only when bison are bearing down on you?”
No doubt Griz and Finch had shared their narrow escape—and mine.
“I manage,” I said. “For a royal.” Though this horse was new to me, I dug in my heels and raced ahead, praying it would respond to my commands. I heard the Komizar galloping close behind me, and I pushed my horse faster. The air was icy crisp, stinging my cheeks, and I was grateful for the fur vest beneath my cloak. He met my pace and pulled slightly in front of me. I snapped my reins, and we ran head to head. I felt my horse still had vast stores of untapped power, and it was as eager as I was to show it, but I slowed just a bit, so the Komizar would think he had bested me, and then when he surged ahead, I returned to a trot. He circled back around, laughing, his face flushed with the cold, his dark-lashed eyes dancing at our small game.
He took his place beside me, and we continued on at a trot with the soldiers keeping pace a short distance behind us. We passed the occasional hovel, the grass so sparse,