Golius’s expression was more suspicious than puzzled. “I hear righteous anger, yet you stayed in Baelok to aid the butchers of Septos in their quest. Why?”
That fact was a shame she’d take to her own grave, a stain on her soul no act of redemption would ever erase. She looked to Bron once more, heart aching at the sight of him. Even if she hadn’t immolated their long friendship three years earlier, he was too honorable to forgive this failing.
She pushed the pain down and focused on her answer. “The Daggermen knew I didn’t support their cause. In exchange for my skills, they promised not to kill me. If I refused, I was no use to them.” He didn’t need to know about Luda.
Golius nodded. “More valuable dead than alive if you refused to help.”
She nodded. “I wore clothes that could be stripped and given to another Dagger wife. My hair shaved and sold for wigs. And if we were threatened with starvation, I could be eaten.”
Every man on the dais reared back at her last comment, their eyes wide, faces pinched in shock and revulsion. Even Bron’s features stiffened with a grim horror.
Golius, a shade paler than a moment earlier, shook his head. “I have to wonder if the Daggermen are even human anymore.”
“It’s a fair question, lord.” She had wondered the same thing many times.
He flipped casually through the pages she’d translated. “Loyalty gained by threats is as fleeting as the wind. Bribery is far more effective and long-lasting.” Several of his commanders nodded their agreement. “I’m not interested in whatever goddess the Daggermen pull out of a cauldron to worship. I need a code-breaker to decipher messages exchanged between Kefian spies. You’re one of the reasons we’re all camped here in this gods-forsaken wilderness. What do you want in exchange for helping Daes win this war? Money? A noble husband? An estate? Name your price.”
His offer left her speechless. Not for its potential rewards, but for the reason behind them. Daes and Keforin had been at war with each other since her grandfather’s youth, taking territory from each other in one battle only to surrender it in the next one. The contested lands were rich with widows and orphans and poor with food and shelter, a fertile breeding ground to turn the forsaken into those like the Daggermen.
Disaris was Daesin, though she truly didn’t care who won this godsforsaken war, only that it would finally end. An itzuli, a Reader, a code-breaker. Whatever name was given to her, her particular skill was coveted by far more than the fanatical Hierarch and for a reason that offered hope instead of terror.
Her mind raced. She wanted to tell the general she’d decipher whatever missives he gave her, translate until her eyes bled and her skull threatened to split, but she couldn’t. Her sister lived on borrowed time, a future sacrifice to the Hierarch’sbloodthirsty goddess. To stay here and offer aid condemned Luda to death.
Though she had been truthful in her way with her replies to Golius’s questions, honesty had its limits. There was no way he’d accept her refusal, even if she explained her reasons and promised to return later. No one was that naïve. Her thoughts raced with burgeoning excitement. She needed to buy time and a means to reach the escape route she’d planned for many months. Golius had possibly given her both.
“Your offers are generous, lord,” she said, clasping her hands together and bowing low. Her vision swam for a moment when she straightened, a reminder that while a bowl of thick gruel had helped fill the chasm in her belly, she was still weak and the task ahead of her impossibly daunting. “I agree to our exchange, but I want to be wise in my choice.” She offered up a silent prayer to any pantheon of deities who might be listening.Please make him believe me.“There is a temple within a quarter day’s ride north of your encampment. It was built to honor Saeclum, god of wisdom and insight. I’d like to pray to him for guidance before I ask for a reward.”
A temple. A gate. The way to Luda.
Golius’s eyes narrowed once more. “Why not pray to the Daggermen’s goddess? She sounds quite powerful.”
Disaris couldn’t stop the sneer that curled her upper lip. “I will never bend the knee nor bow the head to the likes of Kocyte.”
Bron spoke for the first time. “I can escort her to the temple, General. I’ve been there once before.”
There was nothing in his tone to indicate his opinion or feelings regarding her request, or for the entire proceedings for that matter. Bron had always been naturally guarded. Maturity and circumstance had strengthened that aspect of his character.
Golius waved his hand in a gesture of approval. “So be it. Make your prayers, itzuli. I’ll expect an answer when you return,along with more proof of your talent.” His gaze turned to Bron. “You said earlier she isn’t a stranger. Keep her with you. You know her and her value. I trust your vigilance.”
With that, he dismissed everyone in the tent except his personal aides. Bron wasted no time, capturing Disaris’s wrist in a light grip and leading her outside. The others followed, their stares heavy on her back, their whispered conjectures tickling her ears.
She was a woman of average height but still had to jog to keep up with her companion’s leggy stride as she trailed him down labyrinthine paths lined by smaller, far humbler tents than the general’s. Soldiers quieted their conversations as they passed, while a few called out Bron’s name in greeting or saluted him. Smoke from campfires filled the air, and the faint chorus of voices raised in laughter and drunken song floated on a zephyr tinged with the scent of horse and metal.
They halted at a tent larger than those of the rank and file. It lacked any insignia or banner to indicate one of Golius’s commanders bunkered here. Bron let go of her wrist, swept back one side of the entrance flaps and wordlessly motioned her inside.
Disaris didn’t hesitate. There was no one in the entire world she trusted more than Bron. He might hate her, but she’d never believe he meant her harm. She stepped inside, the tent’s cozy interior shrinking instantly when he followed and stood behind her.
A lit lantern hung in one corner, its weak light casting more shadows than illumination. She got only a brief glimpse of the space before his hands settled on her shoulders, and he turned her to face him. He was a study in pale and dark. Carved cheekbones. The livid scar bisecting his left cheek told a story of terrible violence. She reached out to touch it. “What happened?”
He shackled her wrist with one hand. “That isn’t your concern. His mercurial eyes gleamed with warning in the lantern light as he let go and stepped back. “What happened to Ceybold?”
There had once been no secrets between them, and Disaris wept inside for that lost time. “He died shortly before you found me. Crushed by a collapsed wall.” She didn’t weep for Ceybold or his fate.
She caught her breath when Bron moved closer again and caressed her injured arm with a fingertip. The lightest touch, but she felt it through the bandage. “Did he do this to you?”
Bron had always been a soft-spoken boy. Even when manhood deepened his voice, he still spoke in quiet tones, especially when he was angry. His question was barely above a whisper now, and asked through clenched teeth.
Disaris wanted to hug him, assure him she was fine—more than fine with him standing in front of her, alive and unharmed. His dour expression made it obvious he wouldn’t welcome the overture. Instead she bunched her skirt in her hands and shook her head. “No. It’s the work of a shard from a pot that fell and shattered.” She didn’t mention Ceybold’s knife attack just before the wall fell on him. Bron’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe me?”
