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Griz reached out and cuffed the side of his head. Eben yelped, sending a round of guffaws through the other men. “The Komizar wants him to do the deed, not you!” he shouted. “Quit yer whining!” Eben was silent for the remainder of the ride.
    We reached the point where our paths diverged. Griz and his band of three had their own special skills. They would weave their way through the northernmost portion of Morrighan, where the kingdom had foolishly concentrated its forces. They’d be creating their own special brand of mayhem. Not as bloody as mine, but just as productive. Their work would take considerably longer, though, which meant I’d have a “holiday,” as Griz described it, while I waited for them at a designated camp in the Cam Lanteux for our return trip to Venda. He knew as well as I did that the Cam Lanteux was no holiday.
    I watched as they went their own way, Eben sulking low in his saddle.
    Not a job for you.
    Had I been that eager to please the Komizar when I was Eben’s age?
    Yes.
    It was just a handful of years past, but it seemed like two lifetimes ago.
    The Komizar wasn’t even a dozen years older than I was, hardly a full-grown man himself when he became ruler of Venda. That was when he took me under his wing. He saved me from starving. Saved me from a lot of things I’ve tried to forget. He gave me what my own kind hadn’t. A chance. I’ve never stopped paying him back. There are some things you can never pay back.
    But this would be a first, even for me. Not that I hadn’t slit throats in the dark of night before, but those throats had always belonged to soldiers, traitors, or spies, and I knew their deaths meant my comrades would live. Even so, each time my blade slid across a throat, the startled eyes would steal a part of my soul.
    I would have cuffed Eben myself if he’d brought up the subject again. He was too young to begin losing himself.
    Slip in, slip out. And then on to a holiday.

 
    They thought themselves
only a step lower than the gods,
proud in their power over heaven and earth.
They grew strong in their knowledge
but weak in their wisdom,
craving more and still more power,
crushing the defenseless.
    —Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Terravin was just around the next bend—at least that was what Pauline had said a dozen times. Her excited anticipation became mine as she recognized landmarks. We passed a massive tree that had the names of lovers carved into its bark, then a little farther along, a half circle of stumpy marble ruins that looked like loose crooked teeth in an old man’s mouth, and finally in the distance, a shining blue cistern crowned a hill with a court of junipers surrounding it. These signs meant we were close.
    It had taken us ten days to get this far, but we would have made it sooner if we hadn’t spent two days going out of our way to leave false leads in case my father had trackers hunting us down.
    Pauline had been appalled when I bundled up my costly wedding dress and threw it into a thicket of blackberry brambles, but she was positively mortified when I used my dagger to pry the jewels from my wedding cloak and then sent the mutilated remains downriver tied to a log. She made three signs of penance for me. If the cloak was found by anyone who recognized it, I hoped the presumption would be that I had drowned. For wishing that horrifying news on my parents I should have paid penance of my own, but then I remembered they were not only prepared to send their only daughter away to live with a man she didn’t love, but also to a kingdom they themselves didn’t fully trust. I swallowed the knot in my throat and said nothing but good riddance as the cloak that my mother, my grandmother, and their mothers before them had worn floated away.
    We used the jewels to trade for coin at Luiseveque, a large town about two hours’ ride out of our way—three blue sapphires thrown in for the merchant if he forgot where they came from.