“Humor her,” Digi ordered.
He unsheathed his blade, a slender, wicked sword.
“Lute,” I said, “draw your sword. I might be attacked in a minute.”
The sword was in Lute’s hand so fast, it might have jumped into it.
“Young woman,” the elderly man next to theorsisaid, “did you come here to die?”
“No, Karet Or, I came here to help your grandniece.”
I faced theorsi.
“Thetairsent you here to oversee the trade deal with the Jal Family. You were supposed to be recalled upon its conclusion. You expected to stay here for three months. A year has passed, and you are wondering why your father hasn’t sent for you.”
The room went quiet like a proverbial tomb. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be ours.
“Go on,” Digi said.
“Your father knows you are not his daughter. He has no intention of recalling you. He’s buying time for your second brother to consolidate his support by taking over your deals with the Northern Clans. Once he’s ready, he will accuse you of betraying the clan and will send his sword brothers to bring you back. In chains.”
“You lie!” the tall woman snarled, ripping the spear from her back.
Lute raised his sword.
“Stop,” Digi ordered.
The tall woman halted, but she really didn’t want to. The young man with the golden hoops took a step back. Next to him, Mrest Eser’s face sank into grim determination. He was like a man preparing for a death charge. Digi’s granduncle stood still like a statue.
“Have you any proof?” Digi asked.
“You must have wondered why your cousin joined you here instead of enjoying the company of his many lovers and indulging in those hunts he loves so much. After all, Tarak has always avoided work whenever possible.”
Everyone looked at the young man with the golden loops in his ear.
“Tarak reports your every move to thetair. All visitors, all conversations, where you go, what you do, which goods you purchase and from whom. He has done a thorough job. It is the first time in his life he has ever worked so hard. Search him. Your cousin carries the black claw, which gives him the authority to take any life belonging to the clan. He can kill you at will.”
Tarak ripped a dagger from his waist and lunged at Digi. Mrest Eser smashed the pummel of his sword into the young man’s solar plexus. I had seen Everard do it to the Magnar brothers repeatedly during their practice sessions. Tarak folded in half. Mrest Eser gripped his arm and twisted it. The dagger clattered to the floor.
The older warrior thrust his hand into Tarak’s robe and pulled a metal object out. It was solid black and shaped like a miniature dragon claw.
Silence claimed the room. Nobody made a sound except for Tarak trying to suck the air back into his lungs.
Digi regarded me. Her expression was perfectly calm. That was some amazing self-control.
“If I am not my father’s daughter, whose daughter am I?”
“Ask the man next to you.”
Mrest Eser jerked as if bitten by a snake.
Digi turned her head slowly and looked at him.
Sometimes we don’t notice glaringly obvious things because we are conditioned to ignore them. She was probably seeing him for the first time. The same dark eyes. The same shape of the mouth. The same cut of the nose. The pain in his face that could only come from a parent expecting to be separated from his child.
The retainers of Clan Harzi stood frozen, afraid to move. Mrest Eser was a retired general of the Harzi clan. He had been ordered to accompany Digi by thetair, and, as theorsi, she now held his fate in her hand. She could banish him. She could imprison him. She could order his death to hide her secret.
Digi turned her head, looking at no one and everyone at the same time.
