There were few greater disappointments than to learn that the woman you had loved most of your life had become a consummate liar.
Bron swallowed the bitter burn of that revelation as he watched Disaris try not to squirm under his regard. During the many years of their friendship, she’d rarely resorted to deceit and only then to protect someone, never herself. The idea that she might be lying to save Ceybold made his gut churn. Was Ceybold really dead, or had she helped him escape, staying behind in crumbling Baelok to distract those who would take him prisoner or execute him? Or worse, was she helping the Daggermen as a whole? Twisted by the fanatical beliefs of zealots made in the squalor of Daesin-conquered cities?
He might not have found fault in her actions if he believed them only inspired by marital loyalty. He didn’t. Disaris proclaimed she felt no loyalty toward the Daggermen, but feelings weren’t obligations, and aid was often rendered through extortion. Whatever motivated her, the moment she’d requested a chance to pray at Slaekum’s temple, she’d lost all credibility with every person in Golius’s tent. It was too much of acoincidence that the temple she wanted to visit was the same one the Hierarch had once used to send messengers from his lair to Baelok and back again.
Her back stiffened, and her chin rose. He held back a chuckle as her eyes grew wide, as if doing so might control her betraying eyelashes. “I’m not hiding anything. Everything I said was the truth.”
“So is everything youdidn’tsay.” He clasped her uninjured arm, noting its thinness, its fragility. “Try again.”
“No.” That chin rose even more.
He let her go. “If your nose goes any higher, you’ll drown in a rainstorm.”
One of her eyebrows arched. “Does it often rain in your tent?”
This time he laughed aloud. A long age had passed since they’d verbally sparred with each other. He’d missed her wit. Her challenging expression changed at his amusement, softening to an unmistakable yearning that chased away all humor between them.
“I’ve missed you, Bron,” she said on a sigh.
Disaris, who, thus far, had refused to be honest about her purpose, had no problem being so about her emotions. It had always been that way with her, and it still made Bron’s heart slam against his ribs. He stepped back, pretending not to see the hurt in her eyes when he did.
A part of his soul cried out that he’d missed her too, that life had not only been grim but bleak as well thanks to their estrangement. However, he held his tongue, remembering a moment when he’d nearly begged her on his knees to explain why she’d so abruptly abandoned him and the friendship between them. Her features then had been as placid as a sleeping lake, her voice flat, and her eyes hard. Even her eyelashes were still, and she’d regarded him with a bored contempt that cut deeper than any blade, far deeper than the onethat had left its mark on his face. Hers had carved a trench inside him. He still bled from it. Never again would he hand her such a knife.
Her change in attitude was as abrupt and confusing now as it had been three years earlier. She was once more the Disaris whom he’d grown up with, loved, and lost. Or so she seemed. Every internal alarm rang loud with warning.
The dull, rhythmic tapping of fingers on the tent halted any further conversation, and a voice called “Commander, General Golius wants to see you.”
Bron stared at Disaris. “Do you want more to eat?” Her borrowed garb hung on her like rags on a gally-crake.
Her eyes lit up. “Yes, please!”
“Commander.”
“I heard you,” Bron snapped over his shoulder. He turned back to Disaris. “Stay here. Sleep if you want. My bed is comfortable enough. I’ll have someone deliver supper to you.” He pointed a finger at her. “Do not leave this tent, Disa. Understood?”
She nodded. “I won’t. I swear.” Her half smile held as much sorrow as amusement. “Where would I go, Bron?”
He left his spartan quarters with Golius’s messenger, pausing long enough to instruct the pair of soldiers assigned to guard Disaris to keep a close eye and not let anyone inside. He ordered another soldier to deliver supper to her, and to give Bron’s portion to her as well. His gut was too twisted with emotion to eat anyway, and she needed the food far more than he did.
This time when he entered Golius’s quarters, he found only the general and Cimejen there, the two seated opposite each other over a game of mehen. Judging by the position of pieces on the board, the battle mage was winning.
Bron wasn’t surprised to see Cimejen there. While he and Bron were of equal rank, the eunuch held far more power andinfluence, acting as Golius’s right hand even more than those commanders of higher rank. Rumor that was more fact than speculation circulated that the general had rescued Cimejen from a life of slavery in the Shargam iron mines. In exchange for his freedom, the battle mage had sworn absolute fealty to Golius. His reputation as a ruthless fighter and skilled mage, with absolute devotion to his savior, had earned him not only admirers and enemies alike, but the ear and trust of the second most powerful man in the Daesin kingdom.
Golius motioned Bron closer while leveling a frown on Cimejen. He tipped one of his game pieces onto its side, signaling his loss of the game. “How much am I in debt to you now?”
“Two casks of your best summer wine, alaedof Broken Sea salt…” Cimejen rubbed his palms together. “And a mare from Nadiza’s lightning herd.”
The general groaned. “I knew better than to challenge you to another match.” He glanced at Bron. “Do you want to play him?”
Bron shook his head. “I couldn’t afford him if I lost, lord.”
The three men laughed, and Golius poured a round of ale. He handed one goblet to Bron, his humor evaporating as quickly as sweat on hot armor. “Your itzuli almost had me convinced of her hatred for the Daggermen until she wanted to visit the temple. Even if she wasn’t a Daggerman’s wife, that would have made me suspicious.” He downed the contents of his own cup, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “How much of what she said do you think is the truth?”
The question Bron had asked himself and answered an hour earlier. He shrugged. “Like you, I’m wary of the request to visit the temple. None of our watchers have seen the portal gate flare to life since the last messenger the Hierarch sent died in the attempt.” And what a horrific ending that had been. Bron had seen more than his fair share of the savage and the grotesque inhis years as a soldier, but there were some things that even made nightmares shudder. Thank the gods Golius had seen to it the stone gate was destroyed. If Disaris wanted to visit there in the hopes of finding a Daggerman messenger, she was destined for disappointment.
He drained his own goblet and set it aside. “Do you still want to allow her the visit? She’s a valuable prisoner.”
Golius nodded. “True, but what if she knows something even more valuable than her ability to code-break? I’d give much to find out where the Hierarch and the rest of his followers are hiding, and as the itzuli was stashed away in Baelok, I suspect she may know where that is.” The grim smile curving his mouth turned Bron’s blood cold. “I could torture it out of her, but she’s more useful to me unbroken.”
