THE MORNING CAME TOO EARLY, as it always did, night slipping away like a thief afraid of discovery. Fingers of sunlight pressed against Kate’s eyelids, and she rolled over out of their reach. It was more comfortable on this side, cooler, though the bed remained hard, nothing like the beds she used to sleep in. Memories disguised as dreams—of feathered mattresses wrapped in silken sheets and long luxurious mornings spent dozing only to be awakened by the smell of sugar-glazed sweet rolls—started to lull her back to sleep.
Then a more recent memory slid through her mind—of Pip, and the disaster of the night before. Kate groaned, coming fully awake. She forced her eyes open, breaking apart the crust of dried tears that had sealed her lashes together. The urge to renew that crying rose up in her, only to be shoved aside by a sudden jolt of alarm. The sun beyond the narrow window shone too brightly and too high in the sky, more than an hour past dawn. But the dawn bell didn’t ring! She was sure of it. She never slept through the loud gong that signaled the opening of the gates.
Panicked, Kate scrambled out of bed just as the door swung open and her roommate stepped in, carrying with her the faint, sweet stench of barberry wine.
“You’re still in bed?” Signe’s pale eyebrows climbed her forehead, almost disappearing into her golden-blond hair. “What happened?” Yawning, she gestured to Kate’s unmade bed. She wore a sleeveless jerkin and breeches, both disheveled from whatever activity had kept Signe away all night from their shared room.
“I don’t know.” Kate stooped and picked up the clothes she’d discarded on the floor the night before, their presence there, instead of carefully folded and put away, a telling sign of her distressed state of mind. Scowling at the soiled state of her Relay rider’s tunic—whoever thought light blue and horses was a good pairing should be drawn and quartered—she slid it on over her shift. “What time is it?”
“Nearly eight.” Signe stepped in and dropped onto the bed nearest the door. There wasn’t much room for standing and the two narrow beds were the only places for sitting. “If you hurry, you should make it to roll call.” Signe was a Relay rider too, and both of them knew the consequences of a late arrival. Fortunately for Signe, it was her day off.
“Gods, let it be so.” Kate pulled on the rest of her uniform of black breeches and overskirt, wishing she had time to rebraid her hair and wash the dirt from her face.
“Did you hear?” Signe asked, a gleam in her voice. “There’s a royal in the city.”
“What?” Kate’s hand stilled in the act of fastening her belt over the tunic.
Signe nodded, raising one leg to pull out the knife tucked inside her boot. She leaned back on the bed and idly began to toss the knife in one hand. “I don’t know who, but it must be someone important.”
“Obviously,” Kate said, breathless. A royal was in the city. A Tormane. But who? She shook the thought from her head. Whoever it might be was not her concern anymore. She’d left that life behind. “That explains it, though. The dawn bell doesn’t ring when there’s a royal in the city.”
“It doesn’t?” Signe cocked her head, birdlike. Even with her gaze fixed on Kate, she didn’t stop juggling the knife, catching it absentmindedly. Although they’d been friends for more than two years now, Kate had no idea where Signe had learned such a skill. She was from the Esh Islands and never talked about her life there or what had brought her to Rime, but Kate often suspected she’d either been a circus performer or a thief. “If I’d known that,” she continued, “I would’ve come home sooner to wake you. Why doesn’t it ring?”
Kate made a face. “Because royals don’t like to have their sleep disturbed so early.” That wasn’t precisely true, but she didn’t have time to explain the political nuances involved. Although there were kings in Esh, there weren’t sealed city gates. All the islands were free of the nightdrakes that plagued Rime after sunset.
Why did you ever leave? Kate wanted to ask, the memory of Pip ambushing her again. If the horse had been reared in Esh, he would still be alive.
She shoved the regret down deep inside her and headed for the door. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait,” Signe said. “I brought you a gift.”
Kate turned back automatically, unable to resist her friend’s infectious enthusiasm. She gaped as she saw the object in Signe’s hand, a silver chain with a series of small colored stones fastened between the links. The magestones glowed faintly, the enchantment on them strong and new. “A moonbelt?”
Signe grinned. “I swore I would find you one.” She thrust out her hand. “Take it. And learn to enjoy life. Like I do.”
Against her better instincts, Kate accepted the moonbelt. The very hint of its purpose made her insides squirm like she’d swallowed a jar full of worms. It was indecent for an unmarried woman to possess one, let alone wear it.
“Uh, thanks, Sig, but I enjoy life enough already.” Kate tried to hand it back.
Signe brandished a finger at her like a whip. “Working all the time is not enjoyment.”
“It is if you’re me.” There was nothing Kate liked more than riding, and—last night aside—she loved working for the Relay. “Besides,” she added, “you know I’ve no need for it.”
A suggestive smile stretched across Signe’s face. “Yes, so now you must choose a nice boy for a plaything and create the need.”
Ignoring the blush creeping up her neck, Kate shoved the moonbelt into the single outside pocket on her overskirt, making sure it was hidden from view. She would put it on—or not—at the Relay house.
“I’ve got to go.”
Signe shooed her toward the door. “Yes, yes, may the luck of Aslar be with you.”
With a determined bent, Kate hoisted her overskirt and trotted down the narrow hallway to the even narrower staircase. If she was late to morning roll call, she would get bumped from her route by one of the other riders to either a less lucrative one or a more difficult one. The latter was the last thing she wanted, especially after the tragedy with Pip.
Grease hung thick as smoke in the air as Kate descended, the walls and railing slick with it. She would be slick with it too by the time she made it outside. A greasy face and hair were an inevitable consequence of renting a room in the Crook and Cup. So was the stench of boiling meat and ripe onion (a smell she despised) that lingered on her clothes nearly as strong as the ever-present scent of horse (a smell she loved). She and Signe would’ve preferred staying at the Relay house, but there wasn’t a bunk for women riders, only the men, who vastly outnumbered them.
Turning right into the kitchen, Kate darted between a cook and a serving girl on her way to the alley door. The cook shouted that she wasn’t supposed to be in here, but Kate batted her eyes at him and smiled before heading outside. She turned left down the alley, her boots splashing mud over the hem of her overskirt with each step, and soon reached Bakers Row.
“Oh hells,” she muttered at the congestion in the street. Always a little crowded, this morning Bakers Row looked like a fisherman’s net after a good catch, full of flailing, chattering people piled one next to the other. There were women in brightly colored gowns embroidered with lace and with long gaped sleeves, and men sporting velvet or silk tunics and boots polished to a high sheen. Jewelry hung from belts and around necks, some glowing with mage magic designed to enhance beauty or hide disfiguration, others merely glinting in the sun. Kate clucked her tongue in dismay. Such finery had no business in a marketplace as common as Bakers Row.
One man, a merchant by the looks of him, wore a sash made from the carcass of a small nightdrake. The reptilian head hung over the man’s shoulder with its fanged mouth fastened to the scaly tail, and its body wrapped crossways over his back and chest. Shiny black stones had been placed in the eye sockets, making it look alive. Kate suppressed a laugh at the absurdity of such a person wearing such a trophy. No one would believe this portly, gray-bearded man had actually killed the drake.
She pushed her way into the crowd, elbowing sides and stepping on toes without care. The royal is to blame for this, she realized. Why else would everyone bother with such finery if not with the hope of impressing whichever of the Tormanes was here? Not that they’re likely to be seen right now. In her experience, the nobility preferred to breakfast late in the quiet comfort of whatever palace or stately home was grand enough to host them.
With her agitation building, Kate couldn’t keep the glare from her face. Some of the people stepped out of the way at the sight of her blue tunic with the silver galloping horse on the left breast, but most did not. A Relay rider uniform commanded respect only from atop a horse and with a full mail pouch in tow—the contents of those pouches too important to impede, containing everything from personal missives to newsletters to royal decrees.
Booths and vendor carts lined both sides of the streets, some beneath canopies, some leaning with off-angled sides, but all displaying savory wares like sweet buns, pumpkin-glazed crumpets, or flatbreads slathered with butter and honey. The smell of yeast and sugar filled Kate’s nose, making her stomach quiver. She’d been too distraught last night to eat, and hunger sabotaged her now when there was no time to assuage it.
As she reached the end of Bakers Row, turning onto Copperfield, Kate began to silently curse the royal for all the congestion. Nothing brought out a crowd as quickly as the chance to ogle one of the Tormanes, especially way out here in Farhold, where they so rarely journeyed. She wanted to scream aloud how foolish everyone was being, that they were wasting their time—and hers.
But when she reached the intersection with Main Street, she realized she might be the foolish one. A row of city guardsmen standing at parade rest blocked the road ahead. In the distance Kate heard the trill of trumpets, sounding the approach of a royal procession.
Damn them all, she thought, picturing every member of the Tormane family in her mind. Well, not everyone. There was one she refused to picture. One she chose to believe did not exist.
Kate glanced behind her, weighing her options. Nearly everyone towered above her, and they were all pushing forward, vying for a spot near the intersection. The only option was to sneak across Main Street somehow, and her short stature would be an advantage. She ducked under the arm of the woman in front of her, then jostled her way forward until she reached the guardsmen. They stood with their backs to her, their cloaks so dark a shade of green they were almost black. Kate couldn’t see beyond to determine how far the procession still was, but it didn’t matter. She refused to be late, especially after last night. Taking a deep breath, she dashed between the guards onto the empty street.
“Stop!” someone shouted, but Kate plunged on, counting on her size and quickness to keep her from being caught.
Once again, her assumption proved wrong. Whether motivated by the approaching royal or perhaps just favored by the gods, one of the guards managed to grab the end of her braid. The sudden jerk against her scalp yanked her off-balance, and she landed hard on her rump, a shock arching up her spine and into her neck. Her teeth clanked together, catching her bottom lip, and the iron taste of blood filled her mouth.
“Get her up,” one of the men yelled. “Prince Corwin is almost here.”
Prince Corwin.
The sound of that name struck Kate like a cattle whip. She clambered to her feet, ready to claw and bite her way free if she had to. Anything to get out of here before the procession reached them.
But it wasn’t to be. The guard still had hold of her braid, his fingers twisted cruelly around her black hair. “What were you thinking?” He gave the braid another jerk. “And you, a Relay rider. You ought to know better.”
“Let me go.” Kate craned her neck, pulling uselessly against his hold.
“Get her off the street!” another guard called. “They’re here.”
Kate stopped fighting and let herself be dragged off to the side, where two of the guards stepped in front of her, shielding her from view.
“Please let me go,” Kate said, hating the plea in her voice but desperate for escape. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’m going to be late. I’m—”
“Be quiet.” Another tug on her braid, this one hard enough to make her yelp.
She bit back the sound, her heart sinking as she realized it was too late anyway. The procession had reached them. As always, the prince rode up front, flanked by a dozen men on horseback. Some wore the livery of the governor of Farhold and some wore that of Norgard, the home city of the royal family. Kate’s home city.
No, not anymore.
Dropping her gaze, she fixed her eyes on the prince’s warhorse, a tall bay with a white strip on its face. An ache squeezed her chest at the sight of it. The horse had been sired by Shadowdancer, her father’s prized stallion. She would’ve known the breeding anywhere. Looking away, she told herself she would be all right once they passed.
The discordant clop of steel-shod hooves striking the cobblestones halted. Again, Kate refused to look up. Dear gods, make me small. Sweet Farrah, goddess of night and shadows, make me invisible.
“What’s the commotion here?” It was the familiar voice of Governor Prewitt, the most powerful person in Farhold. “You there, step forward and explain.”
Kate braced as her captor pushed her out of the shadows of the intersection and onto the cobbled street once more.
“Apologies, lord governor.” The guard bowed low, forcing Kate to do the same with another harsh tug on her braid. “This Relay rider tried to break through our line.”
“Ah, yes, the riders are always in such a hurry,” a new voice said. This one familiar, too. It was deeper, more mature than the last time she’d heard it, but still unmistakable.
Prince Corwin. The sound stirred emotions long buried inside her—anger aged to bitterness, and something else she refused to name.
“But surely,” the prince continued, “no harm has been do—”
Looking up was a mistake, but Kate couldn’t help it.
Corwin stared down at her, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening in shock.
Kate stared back. Her heart had become a separate living creature inside her body. It thrashed and quaked. There were so many things she wanted to say. You let my father die. You ruined my life.
You broke my heart.
She shoved the last away. That thought didn’t belong to her. Not anymore.
“Do you know this girl, your highness?” Governor Prewitt asked.
The prince didn’t answer. His pale-blue eyes, like winter sky, remained fixed on her, and his jaw worked back and forth as he took in her appearance. Kate’s stomach roiled at what he must see—dirty tunic, mud-caked skirt, hair in disarray. She’d imagined this scene a hundred times before, the day her path crossed his again, but she always pictured herself with an impeccable appearance, the undeniable air that she was fine, that she had triumphed over the hardships he’d helped bring down on her. Instead she looked one step above a beggar wallowing in the gutter.
Belatedly she realized there was blood on her lips, and she wiped it off. With her confidence shattered, Kate looked away, her eyes refusing to be still in her growing nervousness. She swept her gaze over the crowd, which was pressing in for a better look, voices murmuring as someone recognized her.
Traitor Kate . . . Traitor Kate . . .
“Your highness?” Governor Prewitt prodded. “Do you know this young woman?”
Kate glanced back, her gaze on Corwin. He was as handsome as ever, with his dusky blond hair and a tanned face chiseled by the gods—each angle and plane designed to complement the other, from the high cheekbones to the angular jaw. All except for his nose, which was more crooked than she remembered, and the thin, white scar across his chin. The source of these injuries was a mystery no one had solved. The newspapers out of Norgard had nicknamed him the Errant Prince, thanks to the way he had vanished for nearly two years. He’d returned some few months ago, to wild speculation as to where he’d been and what he’d done. To Kate’s dismay, the scars only added to his attractiveness. Damn him.
“No,” Corwin finally said. “I don’t know her.”
The words were a slap, and Kate lowered her gaze to his horse. Temptation called out to her. One little push with her magic and she could fill the horse with an inescapable desire to dump its rider. A poor vindication, but better than none.
“But neither would I begrudge her a livelihood,” Corwin added. “Let her go.”
“As you wish.” The Governor cocked his head toward Kate’s guard, and he released her braid at last.
She dropped into a quick bow, then started to turn, ready to run.
“Wait a moment, rider,” a new voice called. “You’ve dropped something.”
Against her better judgment, Kate stopped and glanced behind her. The speaker rode beside Corwin, atop another of her father’s horses. A hunting falcon perched on the man’s shoulder, its head covered in a black hood. Kate didn’t recognize the nobleman, with his black hair and bronzed complexion. His tunic of soft, slick wool dyed red and trimmed in gold piping bore no insignia. He was pointing at the ground in front of the horses with an amused expression.
Kate’s gaze shifted to the glow rising up from the cobblestones. The moonbelt. She touched her skirt pocket, hoping she was mistaken, but only fabric met her hand. A blush heated her neck, inching upward.
“Is that yours?” the nobleman asked.
Kate stooped to retrieve the moonbelt, returning it to her pocket with fingers gone clumsy. Whispers from the crowd reached her ears, coaxing her blush to spread. Trying to ignore them, she stood up straight and raised her head.
She had nothing to be ashamed of. She was no longer the kind of girl who needed to worry about reputation. So what if she might have a “plaything,” as Signe put it. So what if she might seek physical comfort and pleasure. This was who she was. Kate Brighton. Rider for the Relay.
I am Traitor Kate, she thought, drawing strength from the name for once.
“Thank you, my lord.” Relieved at how steady she sounded, Kate bowed again.
The man’s grin widened. To her annoyance, he was every bit as handsome as the prince. A magestone glistened in his left ear, and she wondered what the magic in it was concealing.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And best of luck to you on all your endeavors—both work and leisure.”
Several in the crowd laughed at the innuendo, and the falcon on the man’s shoulder shifted nervously at the noise. Kate risked a glance at Corwin. His expression was inscrutable, but cold fire seemed to burn in his eyes.
Once again Kate considered using her magic. She could spook all the horses, reducing this band of noblemen to a gaggle of fools trying to stay astride. No one would know. Horses spooked all the time, for all sorts of reasons.
Then she spotted the master magist riding at the back of the procession, his face obscured behind the full white mask. His blue robes marked him a member of the defensive order, one of the most powerful and dangerous. Like all the magists in every order—blue, green, brown, red, white, and gold—he carried a mace, its head embedded with magestones, including one that would flare into life in the presence of wilder magic.
Fear doused her anger as quickly as cold water on hot steel. Never use your gift where someone can see, Katie girl, she heard her father saying as clearly as if he were standing beside her now. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to doing it. If she had, this disaster of a day would’ve turned into something much worse.
As if to emphasize this truth, the loud clang of the bells sounded, chiming the arrival of the eighth hour. She was officially late. Kate allowed herself one last dark look at the prince, then turned and walked away, feeling as if something inside her had broken.
Yes, this morning had indeed come too early. She wished it had never come at all.