Spring thaw came. Under Priianiel’s and, the disparate standing armies that now beloo the arched north to retake Siu Ferel. The king headed for Thornfield for the yearly grafting, and the rest of the royal household made the half-frozen, half-mud-soaked trek back to Siu Rial, the City of Blood.

  cio weled the move. Though he had mostly recovered, and the bloody handkerchiefs and spit buckets and even the carrying chair he’d had to use a few times had been removed, every inch of his family’s Siu al residence seemed to fester with memories of his winter’s valesce. Eveony darkness of the bastion-like Siu Rial home would be a wele ge.

  The endless ride was a trial to erapped in the carriage for the majority of every night, but he climbed out to exercise and work the cramps from his leg and back whehe train of coaches ahead of him became stud had to dig out.

  His steward, Jarik, had arrived in Siu Rial a week in advah a small portion of the staff, so by the time cied himself from the carriage and up the two torturous stairs to the House Mattius residence, a hot meal in the fire-warmed dining room awaited, and a soothing bath was on the way.

  It was the promise of stretg out on a real bed that ost looked forward to, however. Little as he’d done on the way besides twiddle his thumbs, per carriage seats, and massage the pain in his leg, traveling had left him exhausted. He nearly nodded off ih as the hot water pacified the aches and pains of the road.

  “Out already, your lordship?” Jarik asked as ped into the corridor.

  “Even I know when it’s time to y down somewhere I won’t drown.”

  The steward sigo a serving boy to empty the bathwater, then followed the crippled lord, fussing with the colr of cio’s robe.

  “Leave it,” cio said, a little sharper than he’d intended. He forced a lighter tone. “I’m not dressing for a feast. In fact, in five minutes, I hope not to be se all.”

  “Shall I remain abovestairs tonight in case your lordship requires assistance?”

  Meaning cio wasn’t getting around nearly as well as he thought he was. Hard to believe, sidering he ractically crawling.

  “That won’t be necessary.” At Jarik’s hesitation, iled. “I’ll be skipping and frolig again by nightfall, you’ll see.”

  The older man frowned.

  cio sighed. “The bell rope is practically on my pillow here. You’ll hear from me if I require anything, I swear to it.”

  Relutly, the steward bowed aired for the day.

  cio finished his trek to the windowless bedchamber, thankfully without colpsing.

  There was a fire in the grate, but no one had lit the mp on the bedside table. Perhaps Jarik had taken on a new hire and fotten to mention that his lordship preferred to read until he fell asleep.

  Just as well. He didn’t need a book to put himself out tonight.

  He wedged his walking stick between the bedframe and the feather mattress, then leaned against the scrollworked post to disrobe.

  Fabric whispered behind him, opposite the hangings on the bed.

  cio spun on his heel, shoving his robe out in front while his free hand groped for his stick.

  The silk ripped beh a bde. A body crashed into him. Together, they slid off the bed post and fell onto the mattress in a tangle of legs and arms. The walking stick gave a muffled thump, then rolled across the carpeted stone floor, out of reach.

  cio wrestled to lever the attacker off him. Without the use of his leg, it was nearly impossible to get leverage.

  A bewildering stream of hot blood poured forth from the man’s throat, sh cio’s fad chest. The attacker thrashed, his movements weakening, until finally, he stilled. Ih, the man’s weight seemed to double.

  Then the weight lifted. With a muffled thump, the body was tossed to the floor.

  cio rolled to the floor as well and snatched up his walking stick, heart thundering. He wished he had a rapier. Why didn’t he keep a rapier in his bedchamber anymore? He always had as a young man.

  A cloaked shadow crossed to the fire. “I would’ve killed him sooner, but I wasn’t sure if he was yours.”

  The mp fred to life. Saint Daven sat it on the bedside table, then stepped back.

  cio slumped back against the er post at the foot of the bed, every muscle in his body going limp and shaky. The cooling blood made him shiver. He forced himself to unch his fist around the walking stick, then picked up the robe with the dagger still tangled in it and wiped some of the wet from his face.

  “How long was he here?”

  “I don’t know. He got here before I did. Don’t cut yourself on that k’s probably poisoned.”

  cio gred at the former Thorn. “How stupid do you think I am?”

  “That was fast work with the robe.” Saint Daven plucked the dagger out of the cloth, turning it over to study the sticky substance painted along the edge.

  “Yes, well, I’m particurly wary of attackers ing at me from behind these days.” cio draped the bloody robe across his legs tain some sense of security. Nothing made a man feel quite as vulnerable as being attacked while naked.

  The fight was over, but the moment the adrenaline wore off, cio knew he would be in a world of pain. He dragged himself onto the bed before he was incapable of doing it, then assessed his surroundings.

  He didn’t reize the dead man. The roughspun clothing and crude dagger suggested a on thug. Had Lord Kariot finally decided his son’s indiscretion was far enough in the past that cio could be attacked without fear of accusation? Or had another lord taken advantage of the likely association with Kariot to send in a goon? Zinote could be taking revenge for having his motion blocked for so long and so many of his allies stolen. Lord Mosole, too, had bee bitter enough since wot out that cio was marrying Princess Kelena instead of his daughter Arianne.

  House Mattius had no she of ehese days.

  Saint Daven stood there, watg him with those unnerving gold eyes. A timely, unwanted savior. The clothing he’d left in during the previous summer had taken a siderable beating over the past year, and his boots were caked in mud from the road.

  “Tell me this is a victorious return and not that you’re here to report that you were uo make it across the border,” cio said.

  Saint Daven pulled a missive from his threadbare jacket and held it out.

  For a moment, all cio could do was stare at the vellum envelope. An unfamiliar seal was stamped in gold-flecked wax that shimmered in the mplight.

  He hadn’t realized until that very moment how little faith he’d had in any part of this endeavor. Sure, he had thrown every ounce of his efforts into writing the first letter—he was Josean-blessed; p his might into every task he uook was in his nature—but he had secretly beeain it would fail. The letter would be intercepted, the messenger shot, the author hanged. Or the unication would be received and immediately rejected by the Het, again, dead messenger. Any number of possible iterations that ended in failure.

  Ever the embodiment of patience, when cio didn’t take the missive, Saint Daven tossed it onto the bed beside him.

  “Read it or don’t. My job is dohey don’t want a Khi-born carrying the correspondehey said they’ll send their own messenger for your response.”

  cio wiped the drying blood from his hands onto his covers and picked up the missive.

  It had weight to it. An unditional reje could have been taio a single line.

  “How will he find me?”

  Saint Daven the envelope in cio’s hand. “The information’s in there.”

  “You read it?”

  “I don’t carry messages I haven’t read anymore.”

  Now that he was looking for it, cio could see where the seal had been broken aed. He had to fight the urge to ask what it said.

  “Who wrote it? How did you get to them?”

  Saint Daven shrugged. “It took some ving to show them I wasn’t there to cut down as many of them as I could. Not that they trust me much more now. I imagine I’ve been watched ourn trip and that you’ll be getting a visit soon.”

  cio stared down at the missive a moment lohen reached for the bell rope.

  Saint Daven moved toward the door.

  “Wait,” cio said, pulling the bell. “I don’t have any up here, but Jarik will bring something from the coffers.”

  There was that tig jaw muscle again. “I don’t want your money.”

  “Do you think I care what you want? Grafted or not, you’re still a sve for as long as you allow them to use you like one. You did a job. Accept pay like a man.”

  Jarik’s discreet scratch came at the chamber door.

  The first spasm wracked cio’s leg then, and it was a long minute before he could do anything but grit his teeth and hammer on his leg. By the time it had passed, Saint Daven had disappeared.

  “Your lordship?” Jarik called through the door.

  The chamber door swung open, admitting the worried steward. He nearly tripped over the body in his haste to get to cio.

  “Light burn me!” Jarik gasped. “What happened here?”

  Behind the white-faced steward, the door pulled closed seemingly us own power. The Thorn was gone.

  “All this blood!” Jarik clutched at the colr of his own dressing gown, which ristine and unrumpled despite his rush to ahe summons. “I’ll fetch the healer.”

  “No need, I’m unhurt,” cio said, massaging the round of agony as it rolled up his leg. “I just need assistating to the washstand. And could you send up someoo take out this rubbish?”