Sample (from Chapter 12)

Gemma’s plump elbows rested on the stone sill of the second-floor window of her
bedroom where Çifta and Gemma had been catching up after dinner. She was indulging in her
favorite sport of people-watching. When she’d married the elderly Hashe and moved to his
estate, she’d claimed a bedroom for herself that was perfectly positioned to look down into the
busy courtyard. Çifta was sitting cross-legged on Gemma’s bed, leaning against a pillow set
against the headboard, laughing as Gemma—her ample bosom resting on the windowsill—gave
a running commentary about the goings-on in the courtyard.
“There’s my dashing husband, stooped of back and with mismatched socks, bless him.
He’s got a bottle of wine tucked under his jacket, which he and the bookkeeper will polish off as
they review the week’s expenses. He doesn’t know that I know that the accountant’s office is
where the majority of our spirits go to die, but it’s better he doesn’t realize that he married a
snoopy wife.”
“Just an adulterous one,” Çifta injected with a laugh.
“Yes, well, lucky for me, old Mr. Hashe would rather I’m kept occupied than taking note of
his less admirable habits. You see that box in the rear pocket of his trousers?”
“No, I can’t see anything from where I’m sitting.”
“Then let me describe it. It’s small and square and hand-carved and it contains a very
expensive substance known to induce an altered state. He’s addicted to faerie wort. I keep telling
him it’ll kill him one day, but what do I know? I’m just the silly young wife.” Gemma turned
back to the window. “And there goes Endyr. Not the brightest guard in Father’s ranks but
definitely one of the bulgiest.”
“Gemma!” Çifta blushed and covered her eyes. “Have you no shame?”
“No. You should know that by now. Shame is the enemy of fun. Haven’t you figured that
out yet? Did I ever tell you that I went through a phase when I was about eight or nine when I
made an academic study of the bulges in men’s pants—the ones in the front, not the
back—trying to figure out what they were hiding and why they varied so much in size?”
Çifta had forgotten how much Gemma could make her blush. She still found it amazing
that they were even related. “You did not! And you can’t tell they vary in size when they’re all
covered up.”

“Want to bet? I whittled it down to an art. Bulges can be misleading. They look big when
they’re actually small because the tip of the business sits where it can make a little tent, which
looks like it’s packed full but really it’s mostly air.”
“How did you know it was mostly air unless you were—”
“Spying?” Gemma waggled her eyebrows. “Because I was spying. The reason Father
moved some of his men from the east wing of the manor to the west was because I’d winkled out
all the best spyholes.” She looked suddenly serious. “I wonder what kind of goodies Prince
Faraçek is hiding inside his bottoms. You’ll have to write and tell me.”
Çifta choked and reached for the glass of water on Gemma’s bedside table. “I’ll do no such
thing. You’re terrible.”
Gemma put on a look of false offense. “These things are important, little sister. This is the
man you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. He’d better have the goods to make you
happy. If he doesn’t, then he’d better be man enough to admit it, like my dear Hashe, and let you
sort out an alternate source of happiness.”
“A young prince would never be as generous as your old man,” said Çifta. “And even if he
was, I don’t have it in me for improper dalliances.”
“You say that now,” Gemma warned, “because you’re a virgin and you don’t know what
you’d be missing. Stop thinking about what’s right or what’s wrong in love and passion. Life is
short. Sometimes you just have to have the guts to go after what you want.” Gemma arched a
blond brow and pursed her cupid’s-bow mouth. “I did, and things turned out alright for me.” She
turned back to the courtyard and took a breath. “Oh, hello. Who is this fellow? Well, well.
Speaking of bulges—”
Çifta thought she knew who Gemma was talking about. “Does he have red hair?”
“Hard to tell in the torchlight but it looks that way. Goodness, what a stallion.”
“I’d tell you his stallion’s name is Grex, but I have a feeling you aren’t referring to his
horse.”
“No, I wasn’t. Is he one of Father’s new men?”
“No, he’s a loner we came across in Syrgana. We got him out of some trouble. He’ll travel
with us as far as Solana.”
“He’s gorgeous. Is he approachable?”
“What do you mean?”

“I mean… does it seem like he’d be open to an invitation to become better acquainted with
a plump naked lady in a hayloft?”
“Isn’t one lover enough?” Çifta felt a hint of annoyance. Sometimes Gemma didn’t know
when to quit.
Gemma shrugged, her gaze still outside. “Percy is lovely, but a pass for one is a pass for a
dozen, as far as I’m concerned. Estate life is boring. I miss Kirkik. I have to get thrills where I
can. I wonder why he’s not wearing a shirt.”
In a moment, Çifta was off the bed and crowding her sister at the window. Gemma was
right. Laec stood in a pair of breeches and nothing else, not even boots. His broad shoulders and
pale skin were dusted in torchlight as he wrung out wet fabric. His saddle and bags and other
gear sat on a low table near a trough, items set out in rows, like he was taking inventory. The
muscles of his back flexed as Laec shook out and then hung the tunic over a rope strung between
two posts where a pair of socks had already been strung up.
A warm feeling pooled in Çifta’s belly. “He got muddy earlier. He was also robbed. I guess
he doesn’t have a spare outfit.”
“Lucky for us.”
Çifta barely heard her sister’s comment. Why did she find even the sight of Laec’s naked
feet arousing? She should look away, she should retreat, leave Laec to do his laundry and sort his
tack without being spied on, but she felt rooted to the spot. He was so… beautiful. He had all the
features of a man at the height of maturity, plus something more, something Çifta could only
credit to his faeness: The slightly too-long eyeteeth, the violent shade of his hair, the naked look
of appreciation he’d given her in the streets of Cardagenya. Even now, remembering that look
made her stomach float. How could he have such an effect on her? They’d only just met. Did he
also feel the magnetism between them, or was she just being a silly, naive girl? He might even
have a woman back in Stavarjak.
If Laec knew he was being watched, he didn’t show it. A couple of guardsmen came over
and began to talk with him. He stood with his weight on one hip, so casual, so confident. The
way he moved his hands when he talked was mesmerizing. Çifta hadn’t spent much time around
fae men, all of her father’s men were human, but meeting Laec made her wonder if all fae were
so self-assured. He was accustomed to having magic. Was that what made him dauntless and
unabashed? Even after he’d been beaten and robbed, he’d carried on with his day as though not

much had happened. He’d admitted to feeling humbled, but he hadn’t acted embarrassed. Maybe,
back in Stavarjak, he was used to such clashes.
“—tongue back in your mouth.” Gemma bumped Çifta’s shoulder.
Çifta yanked her gaze away. She felt another flare of annoyance, but it wasn’t at her sister,
it was at herself. What was she doing? Drooling over a stranger when she was set to meet her
own betrothed in the next day or two? And a prince, besides. A prince who was leagues more fae
in appearance than Laec. She hoped she’d feel half this attracted to Faraçek. She went back to
the bed but didn’t sit down, instead she began to pace, until she felt Gemma’s eyes on her, then
she stopped and forced herself to sit. “What?”
Gemma narrowed her gaze. “You like him.”
“I only just met him.”
“Time isn’t always a factor in attraction. I’m your sister. Your secret is safe with me, just
like I know mine is with you.”
“I don’t have a secret, and I don’t know anything about him.”
“Is he nice?”
“He’s… direct but aloof.”
“Hmm. Is he single?”
“I don’t know,” Çifta cried, exasperated. “It doesn’t matter. After tomorrow, I’ll never see
him again. I’m betrothed.”
“You can dissolve it.”
That brought Çifta up short. “What?”
“Father built an escape clause into the agreement.” Gemma’s look turned sly. “He didn’t
tell you? I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Çifta was astounded. “No. How do you know that?”
“It was my idea. I made him promise that whoever he betrothed you to, he would negotiate
an eight-week window so you could get to know your fiancé. If you write to him that you’re
unhappy with the arrangement for any reason, he is within his legal right to dissolve it. If the
deadline passes and you are happy, then the marriage will be ironclad and the bride price will be
delivered. The terms are why it took so long for him to find a match for you. Not a lot of families
would agree to such a clause. A canceled betrothal means rumors, and no one important wants to
deal with those.”

Çifta could hardly find words. “But I… You didn’t… None of you had such a clause.”
Gemma came to sit by her younger sister, tucking her skirts up under herself. She took
Çifta’s hand. “Things turned out okay for me because my husband doesn’t want to be bothered
trying to keep me satisfied, but when I first got here, I was miserable. Miserable and angry.”
“I remember.” Çifta had the letters to prove it.
“I was angry with Father for hitching me to a man who already had one foot in the grave. I
understood my duty, so I didn’t complain, but deep down, I felt betrayed. I thought he loved me
more than that.”
The urge to defend Kazery rose in Çifta’s breast. “It’s complicated with Father. He’s risked
so much to get where he is. We’ve all benefited from that. It’s only fair that we shoulder some
burden, too.”
Gemma’s marriage, like Fetre’s and Una’s, had increased the family’s revenues by orders
of magnitude. Çifta’s would as well.
“Yes. I know. Duty over all.” Gemma’s mouth flattened. “I was still upset. I’m still not
happy that he made the match for me that he did, but it helps that I have some freedom. I didn’t
want the same thing to happen to you. It’s a testament to how much he loves you that he agreed.”
Çifta squeezed her sister’s hand. “Thank you. I’ve never received a better gift.”
“You’re welcome. I hope that Faraçek turns out to be everything you want, but if he’s not,
promise me you won’t settle just to make our father happy. We’re rich and powerful enough. We
don’t need Rahamlar in our pocket. Promise me that you’ll take into consideration the rest of
your life?”
Çifta hesitated. These were just the kind of words Kazery despised. Still, it warmed Çifta’s
heart that Gemma would have her happiness foremost in mind.
Gemma pushed her. “Don’t just promise for yourself. Promise for me and Una and Fetre.
We would have loved to have had a choice.”
“I get that, and I love you for it, but I also promised myself that I’d go into this marriage
with a positive and hopeful outlook. I can’t greet my future husband thinking that I might need a
way out. We weren’t raised to give up.”
“I’m not telling you to give up. I’m just telling you to be careful. That’s all.”
Çifta kissed Gemma’s cheek. “I promise.”