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Authors: Nicole Luiken
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myself. I’ll feel much better for your safety if Julen is there to steer you. And he knows how to send messages in ciphers.”
Sara fumbled a protest—several protests—but they did no good. Her father’s mind was made up. “Unless you can think of someone more suitable?” he asked pointedly.
For the life of her, she could not.
Chapter Four
Four hours later Sara found herself traveling in a carriage with Julen. It had mesh windows to keep out insects and plush burgundy seats, but it was, essentially, a box on wheels. A small box.
After the white-pillared and domed Primary Residence and the fabulous tiered fountains of the Temple District had dwindled into more ordinary streets, Sara found herself with nothing to look at but Julen. She fervently wished she’d never mockingly suggested him as her companion.
Julen smiled as if he could read her thoughts. “So here we are. Together. Alone. ”
He was trying to intimidate her. Sara scowled. “We’re not alone, or have you forgotten how to count?” Because of the secrecy of her mission to Slaveland, Sara lacked a proper chaperone, but Felicia was sitting beside her. And eight legionnaires disguised as outriders accompanied their plain black carriage. At least a few of them ought to be within earshot if she screamed, even on the noisy cobblestone streets they were rattling down.
Julen didn’t even glance at Felicia. “A wise cuorelle never tells her mistress’s business.”
Aunt Evina’s cuorelles probably turned a blind eye all the time, but Sara didn’t play those games, and Julen knew it.
“You flatter yourself,” she said coldly.
“My lady?” Julen spread his hands in false innocence. “I only meant that since we are alone, I would like to take the opportunity to express my… humble gratitude for the wonderful opportunity you have given me.” A wealth of rage lay behind the exquisitely polite words.
Her father had just become Primus. From Julen’s point of view, he’d been exiled on the eve of new vistas of power opening up in front of him. The opportunity for graft alone was enormous.
“No need to thank me,” Sara said with an edge of her own. “It was my father who insisted.” And, oh, how she’d tried to change his mind.
Julen’s charming mask slipped. “Your father promised me much, including a title, if I helped him become Primus.”
Sara raised her eyebrow. “If my father gave you his oath, he will keep it. I’m sure he’ll reward you, suitably, when we return from Slaveland.”
“The promises of noblemen are easily given, and harder to collect,” Julen said cynically. “My father’s captain promised him a place of honor on one of his estates for saving his life in battle, and yet when my father became crippled that place of honor shrank to the size of a small hut. I will not be pushed aside so easily. We both know a title by itself is worth less than the position I held. By the time we return, your father will have replaced me.”
Sara shrugged. “Then you’d better hope your replacement is less competent than yourself.” To prick his pride, she imbued her tone with doubt even though she knew Julen to be an excellent spymaster.
“I did not get this far in life by hoping,” Julen said with withering contempt. “I think it would be much better over all if, in a day’s time, you decide on a different companion and send me back to the capital with apologies to your father.”
“I’d like nothing better than to be rid of you,” Sara told him. “But my father made me promise to keep you near.”
Julen waved this away. “I’m sure, with a little thought, you can come up with some excuse.”
“I will not break my oath for you.”
Julen leaned forward. “I don’t think you quite understand. I sold part of my soul to get where I was—the Primus’s right hand. I’m not going to let you throw it away on a whim because I annoyed you.”
An answering flame of anger burned in Sara, obliterating the flicker
Sara fumbled a protest—several protests—but they did no good. Her father’s mind was made up. “Unless you can think of someone more suitable?” he asked pointedly.
For the life of her, she could not.
Chapter Four
Four hours later Sara found herself traveling in a carriage with Julen. It had mesh windows to keep out insects and plush burgundy seats, but it was, essentially, a box on wheels. A small box.
After the white-pillared and domed Primary Residence and the fabulous tiered fountains of the Temple District had dwindled into more ordinary streets, Sara found herself with nothing to look at but Julen. She fervently wished she’d never mockingly suggested him as her companion.
Julen smiled as if he could read her thoughts. “So here we are. Together. Alone. ”
He was trying to intimidate her. Sara scowled. “We’re not alone, or have you forgotten how to count?” Because of the secrecy of her mission to Slaveland, Sara lacked a proper chaperone, but Felicia was sitting beside her. And eight legionnaires disguised as outriders accompanied their plain black carriage. At least a few of them ought to be within earshot if she screamed, even on the noisy cobblestone streets they were rattling down.
Julen didn’t even glance at Felicia. “A wise cuorelle never tells her mistress’s business.”
Aunt Evina’s cuorelles probably turned a blind eye all the time, but Sara didn’t play those games, and Julen knew it.
“You flatter yourself,” she said coldly.
“My lady?” Julen spread his hands in false innocence. “I only meant that since we are alone, I would like to take the opportunity to express my… humble gratitude for the wonderful opportunity you have given me.” A wealth of rage lay behind the exquisitely polite words.
Her father had just become Primus. From Julen’s point of view, he’d been exiled on the eve of new vistas of power opening up in front of him. The opportunity for graft alone was enormous.
“No need to thank me,” Sara said with an edge of her own. “It was my father who insisted.” And, oh, how she’d tried to change his mind.
Julen’s charming mask slipped. “Your father promised me much, including a title, if I helped him become Primus.”
Sara raised her eyebrow. “If my father gave you his oath, he will keep it. I’m sure he’ll reward you, suitably, when we return from Slaveland.”
“The promises of noblemen are easily given, and harder to collect,” Julen said cynically. “My father’s captain promised him a place of honor on one of his estates for saving his life in battle, and yet when my father became crippled that place of honor shrank to the size of a small hut. I will not be pushed aside so easily. We both know a title by itself is worth less than the position I held. By the time we return, your father will have replaced me.”
Sara shrugged. “Then you’d better hope your replacement is less competent than yourself.” To prick his pride, she imbued her tone with doubt even though she knew Julen to be an excellent spymaster.
“I did not get this far in life by hoping,” Julen said with withering contempt. “I think it would be much better over all if, in a day’s time, you decide on a different companion and send me back to the capital with apologies to your father.”
“I’d like nothing better than to be rid of you,” Sara told him. “But my father made me promise to keep you near.”
Julen waved this away. “I’m sure, with a little thought, you can come up with some excuse.”
“I will not break my oath for you.”
Julen leaned forward. “I don’t think you quite understand. I sold part of my soul to get where I was—the Primus’s right hand. I’m not going to let you throw it away on a whim because I annoyed you.”
An answering flame of anger burned in Sara, obliterating the flicker
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