And yet how very much like his country he was, as well. Completely without artifice. She had kept expecting to find some vile secret hidden within him, some taint floating just beneath that gleaming surface, and yet there was nothing. She told herself it was that he lacked depth, but when he had looked into her eyes that first night, even she had found it difficult to maintain her composure. The Master who had trained her all those years as a bard would have been ashamed.
Still, it would be a shame to see the man dragged off to a dungeon. His smiles would vanish into those dark depths and never return, and that was because men like Meghren knew that the game existed everywhere—even here in Ferelden.
The wind howled in the rafters once more, and a pigeon was startled into sudden flight. Its flapping wings high overhead almost masked the distant sounds of footsteps on the stone.
Katriel turned and watched the hooded figure approach, fingering the dagger hidden inside her surcoat. A young lordling had once mocked the small blade when she drew it on him—he had stopped laughing when its razor-sharp edge had opened his throat before he’d a chance to lay another finger on her. She had little doubt that this was the mysterious contact she had been feeding information to since her arrival, but there was always reason to be cautious.
The hooded figure stopped a few feet away, bowing slightly from the waist as a sign of respect. She nodded to him but said nothing. His robes were filthy, and she couldn’t judge if they covered armor or not. He reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a swarthy-skinned Rivaini face with sharp features, one Katriel had not seen among the fortress denizens. A hidden agent, then? Certainly there were many places to hide in West Hill.
“You are Katriel,” he stated, his accent clipped and foreign.
“And you are Severan’s man.”
He glowered at her. “You should not mention our benefactor’s name so casually, elf.”
“And you should remember who it is that has delivered this fortress to you.” She arched a curious brow. “I’m assuming that you’ve dealt with all my fellow agents by now?”
He nodded curtly. “We waited until last night, as per your instructions.”
“I wanted to wait until we received the last message from the army.” She reached into her surcoat and pulled out a rolled-up parchment. Though she held it out to the Rivaini, he did not move to take it. “They have been marching in small groups in the hills and will be in place by this morning. They will attack as soon as the gates are opened, as I promised.”
“They are opening now.” He smiled coldly. “There is a great force hiding beyond the western ridge, ready to strike. They will be crushed. Severan will be pleased, and sends word you shall be rewarded as he promised.”
“There is one problem.” She tapped the parchment thoughtfully against her forehead. “Prince Maric is not riding with the army. There is a camp to the south of West Hill where he will be staying during the battle, an arrangement he made to—”
“We know this,” the Rivaini interrupted, his voice sharp and impatient. “It is being taken care of.”
Katriel paused, frowning. “Taken care of? What do you mean? I was hired to deliver the Prince to King Meghren personally. I can hardly do that if—”
“It is taken care of,” the man snapped irritably. “The rebel prince is no longer your concern. He must perish, and so he shall die as the battle begins.”
“What?” She took an angry step toward him. His black eyes followed her warily, but he did not flinch or retreat. “This is preposterous! I could have easily accomplished that my very first night with the Prince. What is the meaning of this?”
He shrugged. “What does it matter? The fool would have been executed eventually, surely. It is faster for him to die this way, no?” He sneered at her, his eyes knowing. “They say he is handsome. But you have done what you came to do. Now it is done.”
“I came here to deliver him,” she insisted. “Not to kill him.”
“You have delivered him, and his army. To us.” One of his hands slipped gently into his robe, reaching for whatever weapon he had stored there. She made no indication that she was aware of it, however, and continued to meet his steely eyes. “I came here to give you your new orders, elf. It would be a shame if I were to send word to the mage that his little spy met an accident during the battle instead.”
She paused, very aware of the distance between them. The tension was punctuated only by the shrill howls of wind overhead. “I am not Severan’s servant,” she said clearly.
“No? Are you not in his employ?”
“I was brought here at great expense to perform a specific task. Once that task is done, he and I are through.”
He chuckled, low and menacing. “Then I suppose you are through.”
