The Traitor’s Ruin Read online

  Her door was in front of him before he was ready. After glancing around, he bent over to look under the door. Completely dark. She was asleep.

  He should wake her up, he decided, and had his fist in the air to knock when he imagined her answering the door, dressed in nothing but a shift, her sweet-smelling hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back, eyes bleary from sleep and possibly red from crying. It would be like the day after he’d told her who he really was, when he would have done anything to take back what he’d put her through. Sweet Spirit, he’d be on his knees begging her forgiveness in a matter of seconds.

  And if she forgave him, he’d be in her room, kissing her in the dark, holding her while she wore next to nothing, wanting nothing more than to lose themselves in each other.

  The night would end with them in bed together.

  Alex stepped back from the door. No, not now. Not while they were both so unable to think clearly.

  Tomorrow. First thing.

  19

  SAGE DIDN’T REGRET a single minute of working with Clare late into the night, but she still needed to sort things out with Alex. Tomorrow would be the last day before the Norsari left Tennegol, and he’d be busy from dawn till midnight. She didn’t want to have their argument hanging over and interfering with what he needed to get done. Fortunately, she knew where to catch him in the morning.

  All 250 Norsari recruits exercised as a group at sunrise before going for a long run in the hills behind the palace. Sage was sitting on the fence post of a horse pen as the soldiers began straggling back, most carrying their shirts and all looking as though they’d rinsed off in the icy brook outside the gate. Alex was last, his shirt draped over his neck. She’d known he wouldn’t have left anyone behind.

  Sage hopped to the ground and picked up the waterskin she’d brought with her. “Thirsty, Captain?” she called.

  He jumped and turned at the sound of her voice. Without waiting for his reply, she tossed the waterskin at him, and he caught it. After a wary look, Alex tilted it up and let the stream wash his face before aiming for his mouth.

  Sage couldn’t resist staring. She’d seen him shirtless before, when he was wounded and unconscious at Tegann, but then she’d been too busy cleaning away blood, terrified he’d never wake up. This was different.

  Spirit above, he was beautiful.

  A pair of tattoos on his left bicep declared his acceptance into the brotherhood of cavalry officers and also his position as a company commander. Those and the scars across the muscles of his arms and torso begged to be touched and explored, while black hair spread across his chest to pour in a narrow stream down to his navel … and lower. She suddenly felt warm all over, imagining her body next to his, with nothing between them.

  After a couple of swallows, Alex lowered the waterskin and wiped his face with his shirt. That was when she saw the color inked into his upper right arm—his sword arm—and in a design as large if not larger than those on the other side. He caught her looking and twisted his shoulder so she could see it better. Rather than the black, blue, and red used for the army symbols, this one was soft shades of green and violet. It was a sprig of leaves and flowers.

  Sage.

  She raised her eyes to find him smiling shyly. He took a couple steps toward her and offered her back the bag. “Thank you. My lady.”

  Sage reached for it automatically, and his eyes roved over her, lingering on the curve of her hips accentuated by her breeches. Their fingers brushed, but he didn’t let go. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “There were matters that had to be dealt with. I hope you didn’t wait too long.”

  He hadn’t even shown up. All her guilt at not going evaporated. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, seeing as we have the next few months.”

  Alex’s expression changed so fast it was like a door slamming in her face. “We need to talk about that.”

  His tone made it clear he intended to do all the talking. Sage yanked the waterskin out of his hands. “What is there to discuss? I’m going at the request of Her Majesty.”

  “Sage, I love you, and I want to be with you as much as possible.” Alex closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But this is not the way to do it.”

  Fury and embarrassment hit her like a blow to the stomach. Her free hand balled into a fist. “You think I’m doing this just to spend time with you?”

  Alex moved his hand and looked down at her. “Aren’t you?”

  “I am going as the prince’s tutor,” she said slowly, through gritted teeth. “I am also willing to assist you in any other instruction you wish your soldiers to have. That is my purpose.”

  At least as far as he was concerned.

  Alex’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “I can’t have you there,” he said tersely. “I don’t … want you there. Don’t make me…”

  “Don’t make you what?” Sage struggled to keep her voice quiet. “I’m not one of your soldiers, Alex. You can’t order me around.”

  He drew his brows down. “Oh, but I can. Did it ever occur to you how I’d have to treat you as your commander? I can’t have anything undermine my authority. Everything would be strictly professional. No affection, no favoritism.”

  He still thought she only wanted to be with him. “I’m not some lovesick schoolgirl following you around like a puppy.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Sage.”

  “Yes, it was.” She crossed her arms. “If you’re my commander, then why don’t you order me to stay?”

  “I shouldn’t have to. That I don’t want you along should be enough for you to say no.”

  I don’t want you. He’d said that twice now. “You don’t want to look weak,” she spat. “You’re afraid people will think you couldn’t handle being around me. This is about your precious image as a commander.”

  Alex flinched; she’d hit a nerve. He shrank back and pressed his palms into his eyes. In that moment he looked so vulnerable she felt a stab of regret. “Please, Sage, just stay here,” he said. “I can’t do my job if I have to look after you, too.”

  They were arguing in circles. “It’s a good thing I can take care of myself, then, isn’t it?” She pushed past him, heading back into the palace, but he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

  “Please, don’t leave like this,” he whispered in her ear. “We have so little time, Sage. I don’t want to spend it fighting.”

  She very nearly melted as he pressed his lips to her neck. Water from his hair dripped down her shirt collar. “Me neither,” she breathed.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Sage, I promise.”

  Her half-closed eyes snapped open, and she twisted around to face him. “You don’t have to make anything up to me, because I’m going.”

  She shoved him away, spraying him with water as the skin was squeezed. The surprise hit to his face enabled her to slip from his hold. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Captain, I have preparations to make.”

  * * *

  The princesses didn’t even bother showing up for lessons. Instead, Sage and Clare continued working on the list of Casmuni terms and phrases they’d connected to Demoran ones, but the only words Sage heard in her mind were Alex’s.

  I can’t do my job if I have to look after you, too.

  He saw her as a burden. Was that what she’d been at Tegann? More than once he’d insisted she couldn’t take care of herself.

  Did it ever occur to you how I’d have to treat you as your commander?

  She didn’t want favoritism. She wanted to help. But keeping Her Majesty informed—spying for the queen, she might as well call it what it was—didn’t feel so much like lying to Alex if she had other reasons to be there. Now it was her only purpose. All that was left was the lie.

  “What is wrong with you?” demanded Clare from across the table. “You’re acting like you don’t want to go anymore.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t,” mumbled Sage.

  “Why not?”

&nb
sp; I don’t want you along.

  “A hundred small reasons that add up to this being a ridiculous plan.”

  Clare didn’t look convinced. “Name one.”

  Sage had been fiddling with the end of her braid. “My hair. It’ll be impossible to keep it clean out there.”

  “That’s a pathetic excuse,” said Clare.

  “No,” Sage insisted. “It’ll always be in the way. I never kept it this long when I was younger.”

  “So cut it.”

  Sage blinked at her friend. “What?”

  “Solve the problem. Stop dithering and commit.” Clare shook her head. “This isn’t like you.” She stood and marched into the queen’s empty sitting room next door, returning with a large, sharp pair of scissors. Clare set them on the table and folded her arms. “Tell yourself you’re going.”

  It was ridiculous to think Sage wouldn’t still be able to back out if she cut her hair, yet somehow she felt it would end the argument within. Or at least silence one side of it.

  “You’re right,” Sage said, pulling the leather tie off the end of her braid. “Let’s do this.”

  20

  THE TAVERN WAS crowded with soldiers, and Huzar recognized the feeling permeating the air. They were leaving tomorrow. It was time for one last hurrah before the work began.

  They were all serious, well-built men, and they were silent about their mission, even after a few rounds. One who drank enough to start boasting was immediately removed by his companions. Quinn had chosen his Norsari well. Huzar slipped outside after several minutes’ observation from the corner. There was nothing to be gained from watching them, and he didn’t want to be a face they recognized later.

  His man met him in the street and followed Huzar silently to the leather shop several turns away. Inside was another of their countrymen, manning the store for his employer. Huzar waited for a last patron to finish his business and depart before signaling his companion to draw the shades and bolt the door. He settled on a stool and placed one tattooed arm on the counter as the stablehand returned to his side, idly admiring a pair of gloves laid out on the counter.

  “What news?” Huzar asked in Demoran. He’d ordered that even when alone, no conversations would be in Kimisar. Just commenting on the weather in their own language could mean death if overheard. Better to be heard—and likely ignored—while speaking Demoran.

  The shopkeeper swept a few leather scraps into his hand and tossed them in the stove behind him. Unlike Huzar, his complexion was paler than the materials he worked with, and his eyes were a lighter shade of brown—almost amber. Between that and his accent, he was able to blend seamlessly into the tradesmen of Tennegol. He’d even gained the affections of a girl who worked in the palace laundry. Huzar appreciated the extra source of information, but the relationship made him uneasy. “We’ve been nearly cleaned out by those soldiers—gloves, jackets, belts, pouches,” the man said. “But no orders placed beyond what was ready today.”

  Huzar nodded. “As I expected.” He turned to the stablehand. “What have you heard?”

  The man whistled through his missing teeth. “Lot of hushed preparations. Very little information to be had.” He flicked the gloves away and leaned on the counter with a smile too smug for a man with so little to tell. “The amount of supplies is massive for that number of men.”

  “They must be going somewhere without local or army support.” Huzar frowned. “Which direction?”

  “If I had to guess? South.”

  Not good. The Kimisar were scattered east and south. Huzar had spent months contemplating ways to get them all home, and he kept circling back to part of their original mission. Last spring, the group was supposed to have led much of the Demoran army on a chase through the Jovan Pass to this side of the mountains, using the crown prince as bait. After bringing him back through Tegann, Huzar was to negotiate a ransom that would feed his starving people, but D’Amiran had taken the prince for himself. The duke then had the temerity to blame Huzar when the hostage escaped.

  Having a fat, rich nobleman as prisoner might guarantee his men’s safety on the long journey across Jovan and Tasmet. The only other way home was through hundreds of miles of Casmuni desert and another narrow, heavily guarded pass to the south. At best, he would lose half his men. Kidnapping may have shown little imagination, but it offered far better odds.

  He’d hoped the Norsari would choose a training spot far away, giving him time to gather everyone, take a hostage or two, and race to the border. Were the Demorans already on the alert? He tapped his fingers on the counter and turned back to the leatherworker. “We need to call everyone—”

  “You haven’t even asked who’s going,” interrupted the stablehand.

  Spirit, grant him patience. Huzar threw a scowl at the man. “That Quinn is in charge is confirmed by Filip’s girl in the castle.” He jerked his thumb at the man behind the counter. “Also going are two officers who were with him at Tegann.”

  “Is that all she said?” The man smirked. “Any barmaid in the city could’ve told you that.”

  Huzar’s hand snapped out and grabbed the stablehand by his scrawny neck. He held him there, not bothering to bring him closer. “I do not play games with information that could mean life or death, and neither shall you.”

  The Kimisar choked and gurgled for several seconds. “The prince,” he gasped when Huzar loosened his grip a little. “The prince is going with them.”

  Huzar dropped him. “Idiot. Prince Robert is in Mondelea.”

  “And the bastard prince is worth little,” added Filip.

  The stablehand gasped as he knelt at Huzar’s feet. “Not Robert or the other. Nicholas. The youngest.”

  “He’s just a boy,” said Filip.

  The stablehand rubbed his neck as he stood straight with a triumphant grin. “He is a squire. He and three others are assigned to each of the four platoons.”

  Huzar frowned thoughtfully. Demorans took officer training very seriously—something he admired—and their squires were expected to handle many independent duties. Even a prince would not be exempt from the rigors.

  One of the most valuable hostages of all, out in the open. Close to the border.

  Maybe, just maybe, this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

  21

  THE NORSARI RECRUITS assembled on the plain outside the city gates in the early morning light. Alex led his two mares along as he looked for Sage. She’d skipped yesterday’s mission brief, though he’d sent her an invitation. He was actually glad not to see her. The whole time he’d spoken about the training patrols, Alex was conscious of how much he was omitting, how many outright lies he told his own men. Sage would’ve seen right through him.

  A few townsfolk had come to see them off, and several of his men were engaged in quiet talk with sweethearts. Most enlisted soldiers didn’t have the money or constant enough location to be properly matched. As a result, they either married low without a matchmaker or waited until they’d saved enough to buy their own land—and rare was the soldier who managed that—or they aimed for a commission, like one of his new lieutenants. Tanner had achieved his rank on the battlefield, having been denied squirehood because he couldn’t read until he was past twenty.

  That only reminded Alex of how he’d met Sage, and how she’d been eager to teach him to read when she thought he couldn’t. She hadn’t even been motivated by guilt from their initial misunderstanding; Sage simply wanted to help him be the best he could be. It wouldn’t just be Prince Nicholas who benefited from her attitude, either. With everyone she met, Sage unconsciously teased out what they needed to become better people, whether it was learning to read or—in his case—remembering who he was under layers of duty and responsibility.

  He continued along, still not seeing Sage in the crowd. Since he hadn’t had a chance to ask her what horse she was taking, he’d gone ahead and saddled Shadow for her and arranged another horse from the stables for his baggage. Though horsemanship
would be part of Norsari training, only the officers would be riding as they traveled. Every other horse would carry supplies while the enlisted men marched.

  After several fruitless minutes of searching, Alex scanned the women watching from off to the side. Could she have changed her mind? If she had, he’d drop the whole captain act in front of everyone and kiss her senseless. To hell with discretion.

  His optimism faded into confusion as he still didn’t see her. He tugged the horses along until he found Cass, making marks on a checklist. “Have you seen Sage?”

  Casseck glanced up in surprise.

  “Do you think she changed her mind about coming?” Alex asked hopefully.

  His friend stared at him like he didn’t know what to say.

  “Where is she, Cass?”

  Casseck slowly raised his hand from the board he held and pointed.

  Alex pivoted to look, but standing behind him was only one of the four squires. He wore a sort of oversized tunic that came to his knees as he secured the load on a packhorse.

  Then the boy turned around.

  22

  SAGE THOUGHT SHE would be sick. Yesterday, cutting her hair had solidified her resolve; she’d never had another moment of doubt. Now everything felt overruled by the shock on Alex’s face, but it was too late.

  He took several steps in her direction, then without a word, he dropped the reins he carried at her feet and turned away, leaving her with Shadow and a horrible, empty feeling.

  Once they were on the road, her hurt evolved into anger. She was coming along. Alex might as well accept it.

  The capital city dropped away behind them until the last glimpse of it was covered by the hills. Casseck rode beside her, dispensing advice on leading her packhorse and filling her in on some of the plans they’d made. Maybe he was avoiding Alex, but he kept his thoughts and reasons to himself. There were only so many benign topics they could cover, though.