Siu Augine sat at the confluence of the Salt River and the smaller Rival[]. It wasn’t only the two major arteries of the kingdom that crossed there, but also the two largest trade routes—the king’s highway, which ran north to south paralleling the Salt, and the east-to-west stretch of the trader’s road.

  Due to its location, erecting a defensive wall around the city would have been impractical, so Siu Aguine sprawled along the banks for miles in either direction, growing thinner and thinner before finally giving way to farmland and forest. Its ghost city followed suit, its heart of cramped buildings, temples, and estates glowing bright green against the night sky, while its edges slowly faded to darkness and stars.

  Even when they weren’t flooded with spring melt, the rivers were too deep and wide at Siu Augine to ford. Ferries worked night and day, moving merchant trains, slavers, and travelers across the waterways, dodging the endless traffic of barges and riverboats. The wait for a ferry could stretch as long as a fortnight during harvest season. In answer, inns and taverns had grown up close to the crossings.

  The royal household had no need to avail itself of these businesses. The king’s carriage went immediately to the front of the queue to await the next returning ferry. Moving the entirety of the royal escort across would require both ferries at that landing and a total of six trips, which took good deal more coordinating between the three forces of Royal Thorns than they had been forced to do previously in the journey.

  Out of deference to Alaan’s short leash, Commander Poiran met Izak and the pirate beside the royal carriage, where the latter could keep one eye on his mistress.

  Poiran had served in Hazerial’s guard nearly fifteen years, an unheard-of stretch under the current sovereign. The middle-aged swordsman had replaced Izak’s uncle as commander when Prince Ahixandro was executed for heresy, and had been quietly trundling along handling the affairs of the Royal Thorns ever since.

  Poiran’s dark hair was thinning at the back and retreating from the front. He made up for this by wearing it slightly longer than fashionable on top and sweeping the strands over the balding patch.

  It was one of a dozen small vanities Izak had begun to notice in aging Thorns—the ones who survived long enough to age, that was. Privately, he vowed that he would never succumb to such embarrassing measures himself.

  Though, as much as Izak loathed his father, Hazerial was aging disgustingly well. If the king was anything to judge by, then Izak might have nothing to worry about.

  “We’ll send the largest contingent of the king’s guard and a portion of the crown prince’s over first.” Poiran spoke with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. “Then the principals, all in the carriage, along with a small force of each set of Thorns. Obviously, you’ll move with your mistress, pirate. Followed by the majority of the remainder in the third load, leaving about three men for each of the last three loads to hold the mounts. That will require you to split your force, Your Highness. I presume you’ll be riding across in the carriage with the crown prince.”

  Alaan was back to not speaking, so Izak agreed for the both of them.

  The problem didn’t come from the protests of the men’s still-tender graftings when Izak told Phriese, Dolo, Faren, and Sketcher that they would leave the crown prince behind to cross to the north shore first. Nor did it come from Hare, Rake, and Gray who would wait on the south shore to cross on the third boat.

  The problem came from Etian.

  “I’m not getting in that,” he said when Izak tried to chivy him into the royal carriage.

  “Well, there’s not enough space to stand outside it.” Izak chuckled. “Unless you think you’re going to sit on one of the horse’s backs?”

  Beneath his smoked lenses, Etian’s scarred face had turned ashen. “I’ll ride on top of the carriage.”

  “The top and footman’s spots are all taken—I just spent the last ten minutes talking my throat dry explaining to my men why the king’s Thorns get them and they don’t.”

  “Then I’ll go with the next load.”

  Izak’s amusement evaporated. “This is idiotic. Just get in the carriage.”

  “It’s too small,” Etian insisted. “There isn’t enough room inside for us with Kelena, the pirate, and Hazerial and his Thorns.”

  “I’ve had drunken orgies in royal carriages with twice that many guests. Trust me, there is enough room.”

  Etian scowled, the expression at odds with the jagged, leering scar that marred his left cheek and corner of his mouth.

  Izak snorted. “Are you afraid of our father? If he makes a move to attack, just remember, you’ve got a human shield he’ll be more than happy to kill in your stead.”

  Not a flicker of concession.

  “Come on, Etian,” Izak groaned. “Don’t make me beat my charge to death barely a month after he grafted me.”

  With an annoyed grunt, Etian stalked to the vehicle. He hesitated—an unfamiliar sight in the Josean-blessed prince—then grabbed the mud-splattered door and climbed inside.

  Unsure what had gotten into his brother, Izak shook his head and followed. He had only been exaggerating a little about the interior of the vehicle. Including Etian and Izak, the carriage accommodated eight, and although conditions weren’t cramped, they weren’t overly spacious either. With five Thorns and one Josean-blessed crown prince inside, whatever spare room the king and Kelena didn’t take up went to weaponry. Accommodating Izak’s swordstaff—a full foot taller than Izak himself—provided a particularly interesting challenge.

  Hazerial reclined on one seat with three of his Royal Thorns. Ondreus and Crash Izak recognized from Thornfield, but the last was an older Thorn Izak used to see escorting Etian to the pit houses. His name was either Gander or Ruis; Izak had never taken the time to sort out which one was which.

  On the seat opposite the king, Alaan sat beside the window with Kelena to the inside. Izak tried to direct Etian to sit beside her so Izak could cover the other window, but Alaan stopped him.

  “You will sit next to the princess,” the pirate told Izak. “No one else.”

  Eager to just get this endless chore over with, Izak conceded, then leaned over his brother and buttoned the window cover shut. The odds that someone was going to fire an arrow at Etian from the bank or one of the passing boats was infinitesimal, but the grafting refused to believe that until the opening was blocked.

  The driver coaxed the team onto the ferry, their hooves clumping on the wooden planks. The ferrymen chocked the wheels, then with a slow, lumbering pull, the boat began to move.

  It was a strange sensation to feel all that weight suddenly floating free of solid ground. Unnerving. Having lived most of his life on a pirate ship, Alaan must be well used to the feeling, but Izak wasn’t. He looked over at his friend, intending to ask how the ferry compared, and found Kelena smiling.

  He slung an arm around his younger sister’s shoulders. “Beats bouncing around on a rutted wagon-road all night, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s very smooth,” she agreed. “I just wish the whole craft didn’t feel so… loose.” She gave a theatrical shudder, though her smile remained. “Every time the ferryman corrects the course, it feels as if we’ll go over.”

  “We don’t have anything to fear, do we, Alaan?” Izak asked, trying to sound less concerned than he was.

  Alaan glared at him, then away again.

  “Comforting.” Izak smirked and leaned closer to Kelena, feigning a confidential tone. “Keep an eye on the pirate—he’ll be the first to know if we’re in danger.”

  Returning his confidential posture, Kelena whispered into Izak’s ear so quietly that he almost missed what she said.

  “Don’t be nervous. He thinks we’re safe.”

  Izak raised a questioning brow at his sister. “How…”

  On the opposite seat, Hazerial sat observing their whispered discussion. Izak decided to wait until they were alone to ask her how she knew what the pirate was thinking.

  Instead, he changed the subject to the ball Kelena had been allowed to attend not long after Winterlight. She was so giddy to tell him about all the beautiful people, the smells of the food and colors of the wine and sounds of the instruments, that he felt a twinge of guilt. He’d been within speaking distance of Kelena for weeks now and he’d hardly spared a second for her.

  While Izak and Kelena chattered on happily, on the far end of the carriage seat, Etian clenched his fists and tried to keep breathing. The sound of his siblings’ laughter was shrill one moment and muffled the next.

  Around him, the carriage shrank and darkened until it was a narrow, airless coffin. Sweat poured down his face and plastered his clothes to his skin. His heart constricted painfully. From one side, Izak’s shoulder and arm pressed against Etian. From the other, the carriage wall.

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  He was trapped in this night-forsaken box. The air was hot and suffocating with the stench of human waste and fear and vomit.

  Something was strangling him. Etian wrenched loose the ties of his cloak, then dug at the collar of the jacket beneath. Still, he couldn’t breathe. He was dying.

  And what lay after death but an eternity of confinement alone in the airless dark?

  He was trapped in here forever.

  The ferry lurched as it bumped against the far shore. Before the wheels were unchocked or the ferry gate opened, Etian threw wide the carriage door and stumbled out into the shallows at the river’s edge.

  Icy water splashed to his thighs and filled his boots, clearing his head like a slap. The current shoved him back until he pressed against the side of the ferry. He hooked an arm around the rail to keep from being pulled under. His chest heaved, and he shivered as sour sweat dried in the cold spring air.

  A second splash sounded behind him.

  “Light, Etian!” Izak cursed, bracing himself against the current with his swordstaff. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “That carriage is too small.” Etian leaned into the current as he sloshed toward the shore. “I’m not riding in it again.”

  ***

  Siu Augine’s lord was orders of magnitude wealthier than Tolashne, and as such, his welcome feast was vastly better appointed, attended, and entertained. Jugglers and tumblers wandered the cavernous feasting hall, awing the guests with their performances. Music flowed from an unobtrusive gallery in the far corner, while bloodslaves brought up artistically prepared platters from the kitchens and ghosted around refilling goblets.

  The guests ranged from the royal family and his lordship’s small household to courtiers who had put up in the Crossroads City for the winter. The cream of Siu Augine society.

  From his place behind Etian, Izak recognized several noblewomen. Their smiles and fluttering lashes said they remembered him fondly as well. Here and there, new husbands eyed him with suspicion where three years and a marriage contract ago, the same men had fawned over the elder prince.

  Beshani of House Vandishe was the first to renew old acquaintances.

  She favored Izak with a sultry smile. Her lips were painted bloodred to match her dress, and a net of rubies contained hair intricately braided and coiled with a rat of someone else’s to pad out its unfortunate thinness. But only Izak and Beshani’s handmaids knew that last bit.

  “You are a sight, Prince Izak. I hate to feed your conceit any more than necessary, but the House Khinet colors become you.” She traced the thick red military stitching in his jacket’s stiff black material. “It’s almost as if we dressed to match. But then, you must know you look quite sharp in a uniform.”

  “You should see me out of it.” Izak gave her the royal grin and was gratified to see her eyes flick to the second set of dimples cut high on his cheeks.

  “Oh, I remember.”

  “Burn you, Beshani,” Leletha, lately of House Kariot, muttered as she squeezed her wide skirts in alongside the first noblewoman. She scowled at Izak, her carefully plucked brows furrowing over that cute little pug nose. “She didn’t even realize it was you until I told her, Prince Izak. She couldn’t see past the uniform.”

  “I would have noticed without you sticking your charmingly porcine nose in my business, Leletha dear. I was merely taking my time and admiring the shape a Royal Thorn cuts dressed in his best.”

  “I’m wearing a uniform, too,” Hare interjected hopefully from his post on Izak’s left.

  Leletha and Beshani ignored the bastard of West Crag.

  “What is this?” Leletha caressed Loss’s ebony haft suggestively. “Impressive. I can’t remember seeing any Royal Thorns carrying a weapon like this one. But then, I know Teikru has always blessed you with more blade than other men could handle.”

  “It was always a pleasure to hone my bladework with you, Leletha.” Still pouring on the royal charm, Izak subtly shifted Loss out of her reach. The swordstaff was his, and he didn’t want anyone else touching her. “I presume you’ve been keeping Kariot’s sword well sharpened since the wedding.”

  She pouted prettily. “More like his dirk.”

  “In fact, I do think I hear your husband calling for you, Leletha dear,” Beshani said, gesturing at a far table. “Isn’t that him?”

  “Why don’t you go for a stroll in the sun, Beshani dear?”

  “When are you off duty, Prince Izak?” Beshani batted her eyelashes. “I don’t have any marital responsibilities to attend to, and I would adore a chance to renew our friendship.”

  “Ladies,” Izak said apologetically, “much as I would love to have vigorously reacquaint myself with each of you, as Commander of the Crown Prince’s Thorns, I can’t tear myself away from the job today.” He reached out and dragged the all-but-drooling Hare and Dolo over. “My men, however, will be free very soon.”

  Beshani was immediately open to the offer, and when Leletha pouted some more, Beshani managed to convince both Dolo and Hare to visit her quarters. Realizing she was going to get left without if she went on being picky, Leletha decided any Royal Thorn would suffice and took up flirting with the enormous, blushing Sketcher.

  Izak’s willingness to spread the ladies’ attention around was almost as popular as his move earlier that night to avail their unit of the best whoring house in Siu Augine while their uniforms were being laundered. It was hard to beat clean uniforms after weeks on the road, though.

  As far as Izak was concerned, deflecting Beshani and Leletha to his brothers in arms wasn’t much of a sacrifice. In truth, he felt as if he had outgrown noblewomen. No matter how beautiful or willing, there was something childish about them now that he couldn’t ignore.

  What concerned Izak more was his younger brother. Since the ferry crossing, Etian had been withdrawn, making no effort to join Izak and his Thorns in conversation or the whoring, or later to engage his highborn peers at the feast.

  When he brooded, Etian’s resemblance to Hazerial was striking—the same lowered brow, the same cold, distant glare. Izak had tried to draw his brother out multiple times that night, but behind the smoked lenses, Etian’s eyes were darkened battlements. His answers had been absent, indifferent. Even the undiluted extravagance of the evening in the whoring house—which Izak had gifted his men with at the crown’s expense—had failed to catch Etian’s attention.

  “Just tell me what it is already,” Izak had demanded as they returned to the lord’s estate that morning to prepare for the feast, Siu Augine’s ghost city fading from the lightening sky. “What’s there to fret about?”

  Etian’s frown deepened. “Timing.”

  “Timing?”

  “Horseback, it’s a two-week ride from Siu Carinal to Siu Rial. Under the same conditions, a boat on the Salt River can make the same distance in half that.”

  “It’s a two-week ride in good weather,” Izak corrected him. “Right now, the conditions are terrible, and the rivers are all full to bursting. You felt what it was doing to the ferry. Traveling upriver at this time of year is madness.”

  Etian’s grip tightened on his reins. He had nothing to say to that.

  “You’re expecting someone?” Izak tried again.

  Etian looked southward.

  “A human shield,” he said.

  ***

  The princess’s quarters at Siu Augine had two squat windows along the southern wall, each large enough to admit a grown man. A third let daylight into a small, connected privy chamber.

  It was a problem. After three days in the princess’s impossible to secure canvas pavilion, unable to close his eyes for more than a minute at a time, Alaan’s limbs were weak and shaky, his focus fading. He had been hoping this stop would bring another windowless chamber that he could fortify enough to sleep.

  While he worked through his customary securing of the room, he turned over the difficulty of the windows. He had already discarded the notion of exchanging rooms with the prince. All of the royal family was being housed along the southern wall of the castle, each of their chambers in a line down the same hall, so each would likely have the same number of windows.

  He couldn’t lie in front of every window and door at once. He could push the princess’s bed up against the door to the hall, but that left the privy chamber with its two potential entrances unbarricaded, window and seat, as well as whichever of the two windows in the bedchamber he did not sleep beneath.

  While he considered and discarded solutions, the grafting harassed him, a scavenger chewing at the wounds of a creature not yet dead. Only a dirter would be foolish enough to think an enchantment that impaired clear, rational judgment would aid in the protection of its master.

  He must be missing something.

  Alaan stopped where he was and reassessed the chamber through gritty eyes. The sudden lack of motion settled like a weight in his gut. He rarely felt landsick anymore, but with every new day of lost sleep, his stomach grew more sensitive to the deadness of dry ground.

  “Thank you,” the princess said in a low voice from her place at the center of the chamber.

  Did she think that he had finished safeguarding her? If she bothered looking, she could see the windows for herself. The room was nowhere near secure.

  “For the river.” She peeked up at him without lifting her chin. When she caught his eye, she hurried to return her gaze to the thick carpeting beneath her slippers. “Knowing you weren’t afraid on the ferry made Izakiel feel better. So, thank you.”

  It was the most she had said to Alaan since recalling him from death as her slave. Annoyance smoldered along the surface of his constant anger like an ember sinking into the grain of a burning timber.

  Pink tinged her cheekbones. Fear, mortification, and regret flowed along the grafting. She opened her mouth to speak, then quickly closed it, pressing her full lips into a line.

  A hesitant trace of apology threaded into the grafting like an offering.

  She had sent the feeling to him intentionally. The monster’s daughter, whose trembling hand held the king’s blood debt out of Alaan’s reach, was trying to placate him.

  A hurricane of hatred roared inside of his chest.

  Her dark eyes flew wide. She flinched and raised her hands as if to fend off a strike, despite the fact that he had not moved.

  As quickly as the rage had blown in, a flood of shame replaced it. Allowing emotion to swallow him like some filthy dirter. Had he lost so much of himself in three years ashore?

  Alaan forced the anger down, containing it. It felt as if he had to haul the words up from the bottom of the Deep Chasm.

  “Forgive me.”

  The princess’s shaking hands lowered, then clasped one another against her stomach.

  Her first attempt to speak yielded nothing but airy whispers that Alaan could not understand.

  “I’m the one who should apologize,” she finally stammered. “It was stupid of me to bother you with petty conversation.” She swallowed hard. “I-I know you’re worn through, I can feel it, and I never think. I’m so stupid. I’m sorry.”

  “Fatigue is not an excuse for dishonorable behavior,” Alaan said, wanting to make an end of the conversation. “The fault is mine.”

  The princess began to say something else, but the solution to the problem of the bedchamber suddenly became clear to him. Throughout the feast, bloodslaves had brought food and wine up from the kitchens, and the servants had left by the same stairs. Their quarters were likely below ground level, where there were no windows.

  The answer was not to change rooms with another on this floor, but with someone whose room was belowground.

  The princess fell silent as Alaan unbarred the door to the hall. Without a word, he led her through the corridors, crossed the feasting hall—empty but for a handful of dogs and dirty-faced children fighting over scraps—then down the stairs and past the kitchens. After three doors, a servant finally answered Alaan’s knock.

  As expected, the old man eagerly vacated his chamber for the monster king’s daughter. Alaan did not know where the servant would lodge instead, and he did not care.

  The room was small, windowless, with a single entrance and thick stone walls. It was furnished with nothing but a narrow cot, washstand, and tiny grate. Easily secured against intrusion, it also afforded the unexpected advantage of quartering the princess somewhere no one would think to look for her.

  Strangely, comfort flowed through the grafting from the princess as she lay on the cot. A measure of the fear and anxiety she felt in the luxurious royal apartments disappeared in the confines of the little cell.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into the darkness.

  Alaan did not answer. He stretched out in front of the door and fell asleep almost before his head touched stone.