Trix never talked about how hard it was to be good at surviving when it seemed so many others were good at dying.
Sev swallowed thickly and stepped over the edge.
“He was lurking near the cook fires,” he said, acid roiling in his belly, “and now I think on it, they decided to serve stew last minute—and he butchered the venison they used. He must have convinced the servants to change the menu and poisoned the meat when he couldn’t get at the other food stores.”
It was true that they had been serving venison stew that night, among other things. And it was true that the stewpots were poisoned. Sev didn’t know if Ulric had helped with the actual poisoning, but he had been involved in making the poison itself. He was guilty.
But so was Sev, and never had his position in this world—both as a soldier and as an animage—been clearer than when Rolan took his account without question, turned a look of disgust toward Ulric, and sent him and his soldier guard away. Where was Ulric going? To be locked up? To be killed? Sev would probably never know.
Chest heaving, he fought to get his breath under control.
With his eyes on his papers, Rolan handed Sev a handkerchief—meant for the spit that had spattered across his tunic. Sev accepted numbly, wiping all evidence of what had just happened away.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said as soon as his voice was under control. He lowered himself back into his chair. It creaked.
Rolan nodded, shuffling his papers.
Sev was suddenly exhausted. His shoulder ached—whatever medicine Hestia had given him was wearing off—and he longed for solitude. Deep down, the ghostly wisp of hope he’d been clinging to that maybe, maybe he’d get to see someone else today was slowly dissipating like smoke in the wind.
“Well, Sevro, that’s—oh, no,” Rolan said, coming to a final page and squinting down at it. “It seems we’ve got one more….”
Sev stopped listening. Anticipation flared to life inside him, and somehow he knew, even before the knock sounded and the tall, broad-shouldered bondservant was shoved into the chair opposite them.
Sev stared, just barely managing to tamp down on his wild, swirling emotions, eyes boring into the top of the bondservant’s head. Slowly, as if it weighed a hundred pounds, the bondservant lifted his chin. Molten amber eyes, sharply carved jawline, and the unmistakable scowl of Kade.
The breath whooshed from Sev’s lungs. Badly healing scabs and faded bruising marred the skin of Kade’s face and knuckles—he had clearly been fighting—and his eyes were cold and distant… until they landed on Sev. Something warm flickered inside. Something as bright and sudden as lightning.
Sev wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to say a prayer to Teyke or Anyanke or whoever had pulled this off.
But then he realized the terrible danger Kade was in. What had just happened to Ulric would be nothing if Sev couldn’t get Kade out of this unharmed. If the gods had brought them together only to rip them apart again, Sev didn’t think he could bear it.
Kade was guilty, just as Ulric had been. But he wasn’t fool enough to shout accusations and goad Sev into revealing the truth. He would know that Sev was trying to save him.
Wouldn’t he?
There was something questioning in Kade’s eye… something uncertain. He had doubted Sev all along, hadn’t he? Was it so surprising that he’d doubt Sev now, safe and cared for by their enemies?
“Yes,” Sev found himself saying, even before Rolan prompted him. “I know him.”
Rolan waited expectantly, while Kade had gone still as a statue. “We were positioned together with the pack animals.”
“The pack animals that carried the food stores?” Rolan asked, moving to make a note on his papers.
Sev nodded. “Yes, sir. But,” he continued, “the bondservant was reassigned halfway through our journey.” No need to mention why he was moved—or where—unless Rolan asked. “He was nowhere near the food or the preparations. What’s more,” Sev added, when Rolan continued to frown, “he saved my life.”
“He did?” Rolan repeated, glancing at Kade. “How?”
Sev couldn’t tell him the truth—but as any good liar will tell you, it’s best to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“One of the bondservants was trying to escape and came up behind me with a knife drawn. This one hit the attacker over the head with a piece of wood.”
“He attacked one of his own?” Rolan asked, sounding almost impressed.