“This is it,” he said simply, and I was grateful for the distraction. I looked around, finally taking in the expanse of the room.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” I said.

“A tower room,” he answered, as if that explained it, but the room was large, and the outer wall curved, so maybe it did. I walked farther inside, stepping onto a black fur rug, my bare feet finally getting some relief from the cold floor. I wiggled my toes deep into the soft fleece and then my eyes landed on a bed. A very small one shoved up against the wall. I noticed that everything, in fact, was shoved up against the wall in a dull, orderly procession the way a soldier who only cared about practicality might arrange things. Next to the bed was a wooden barrel piled with folded blankets, a large trunk, a cold hearth, an empty fuel bin, a chest, and a water basin, followed by a line of mismatched trappings leaning against the wall side by side—a broom, wooden practice swords, three iron rods, a tall candlestick, and the very beleaguered boots he had worn across the Cam Lanteux, still caked with mud. Hanging overhead was a crude wooden chandelier, the oil in its lanterns aged to a deep tawny yellow. But then I saw details that didn’t fit a soldier’s quarters, their smallness suddenly larger than the room itself.

Several books were stacked beneath his bed. More proof that he had lied about not reading. But it was the trinkets that made my throat swell. On the other side of the room, bits of blue and green colored glass strung on braided leather hung from a beam. Tucked in the corner was a chair, and lying in front of it was a chunky rug woven of colorful rags and uncarded wool. The gifts of the world. They come in many colors and strengths. Dihara’s rug. And then, lying in a shallow basket on the floor, were ribbons, a dozen at least of every color, painted with suns and stars and crescent moons. I walked closer and lifted one, letting the purple silk trail through my palm. I blinked back the sting in my eyes.

“They always sent me off with something when I left,” Kaden explained.

But not this last time. Only a curse from sweet, gentle Natiya, hoping that my horse would kick stones in his teeth. He would never be welcome in the vagabond camp again.

Dread swept over me. Something loomed, even for the vagabonds. I had seen it in Dihara’s eyes and felt it in the tremble of her hand on my cheek when she said good-bye. Turn your ear to the wind. Stand strong. Did she hear something whisper through the valley? I sensed it now, something creeping through the floors and walls, reaching up through pillars. An ending. Or maybe I was feeling my own mortality drawing near.

I heard Kaden’s footsteps behind me and then felt his hands on my waist. They slowly circled around, pulling me to him.

I drew in a sharp breath.

His lips brushed my shoulder. “Lia, finally we can…”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t do this. I stepped away and whirled to face him.

He was smiling. His brows raised. A full, indulgent grin. He knew.

Guilt and anger stabbed me at the same time. I spun and walked to the trunk, throwing it open. The closest thing to a nightgown I could find was one of his oversized shirts. I snatched it out and turned. “And I’ll take the bed!” I threw one of the folded blankets at him.

He caught it, laughing. “Don’t be angry with me, Lia. Remember, I know the difference between a real kiss from you and one given only for the Komizar’s benefit.”

A real kiss. I couldn’t deny what our first kiss had been.

He dropped the blanket onto the rug. “Our kiss in the meadow set the bar high, though I admit I’ll always treasure this contrived one too.” He reached up and touched the corner of his mouth, teasing, as if he was savoring the memory.

I looked at him, his eyes still lit with mischief, and something tugged inside me. I saw someone who, for a moment, forgot that he was the Assassin, the one who had dragged me here.

“Why did you play along?” I asked.

His smile faded. “It’s been a long day. A hard day. I wanted to give you time. And maybe I hoped I wasn’t just the lesser evil of your options.”

He was perceptive, but not perceptive enough.

He pointed to the trunk. “If you dig a little deeper, you’ll find some woolen socks too.”

I dug to the bottom and found three pairs of long gray socks. He turned around for me, and I threw off the dress from hell that was lined with a thousand burrs. His shirt was warm and soft and fell to my knees, and his socks came up just past them.

“They look far better on you,” he said when he turned around. He dragged the fur rug over near the bed and grabbed another blanket from the barrel, throwing it on the rug beside the other one. I used the washbasin in the corner while he prepared for bed, throwing off belts and boots, and lighting a candle. He told me that the door in the corner led to a chamber closet. It was a small room and far from luxurious, but compared to my last few nights camping amid hundreds of soldiers with barely a shred of privacy, it was perfection. It had hooks for towels and even another of Dihara’s braided rugs that offered welcome warmth from the bare floor.

When I came out, he lowered the chandelier and extinguished the lanterns. The room flickered with the single golden candle, and I crawled into the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling above me dancing with long shadows. The wind howled outside and pounded at the wood shutters. I pulled the quilt higher around my chin. The emissary has a better chance of being alive at month’s end than you do.

I rolled over and curled into a ball. Kaden lay on his back on the rug with his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. His shoulders were bare, the blanket only covering half of his chest. I could see the scars that he said didn’t matter anymore but refused to talk about. I scooted closer to the edge of the bed.