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Deep inside Ashi, the part of her that had once been a savage hunter of the Bonetree, the most feared clan of the Shadow Marches, rose up. She wanted to strike Tariic down. Tear open his throat with her bare fingers. Snatch the Rod of Kings from his grasp and beat his face in with it.

But she didn’t. Another part of her, the part that had been Vounn’s reluctant student in the ways of civilization, pushed her anger aside. Attacking Tariic would solve nothing—she’d be dead before he was. Ashi bent her head.

“It is an honor,” she said, her voice tight, “that I did not expect.”

Tariic’s smile grew just a little wider, and he spoke through his teeth at a pitch only she could hear. “Of course you didn’t.” He looked out over the gathered warlords and up at the watching ambassadors and raised his arms. “Hail to Deneith and Darguun!”

Shouts and applause filled the throne room. Ashi watched Redek bow again, face shining in innocent triumph as if he had just achieved the pinnacle of his career.

There was another message, one just for her.

I know what happened. I do not want to know why it did.

By your actions you have cost House Deneith the life of a valuable servant in Vounn d’Deneith and nearly severed the connections that she worked to strengthen. The bonds between Deneith and Darguun are not just pretty words to be spoken at ceremonies. The mercenaries hired to Deneith by the lhesh of Darguun are worth more than the life of any member of this house—including that of a bearer of the Siberys Mark of Sentinel.

You are fortunate that Lhesh Tariic understands the demands of politics and economy and sees that Darguun benefits more from fighting with Deneith than fighting against us. He is more understanding to accept your continued presence in his court than I would be.

Remain in Rhukaan Draal. Carry out Vounn’s mission to Darguun and you may be redeemed. If you are found beyond the borders of Darguun before that day, however, you are excoriated.

—Breven

Ashi ground her teeth together so hard they hurt. To be declared an excoriate was to be exiled from a dragonmarked house, the worst punishment the members of the great houses could inflict on one of their own. In the distant past, it had been both a symbolic and a literal severing of connections; the offender’s name would be stricken from the rolls of the house and the dragonmark that swirled over her skin cut away. Ashi had heard rumors that a secret gallery in the heart of Sentinel Tower held grisly relics of those nameless excoriates who had been expelled from Deneith in ancient times. Excoriates were no longer flayed alive, but for many dragonmarked, to be cut off from their house, the source of much of their identity, was still a terrible punishment.

Ashi had lost her identity before, when she abandoned the Bonetree Clan for House Deneith. The threat of taking away her connection—already tenuous—to Deneith held little power over her. What hurt more was Breven’s accusation. By your actions, you have cost House Deneith the life of a valuable servant in Vounn d’Deneith.

He might as well have written, You killed Vounn.

Ashi raised her head to glare at Tariic. “What did you tell him?”

Seated in the best chair in the chambers she had, until only a few days before, shared with Vounn, Tariic gave a thin smile. “The truth, of course. That when Geth and Chetiin moved to seize the Rod of Kings, you were with them. That in a misguided attempt to protect you, Vounn put herself in the path of Makka’s blade as he tried to defend me—”

“That’s not the truth!” Ashi snarled. The heavy paper crumpled in her fist, and she drew back her arm to hurl it at Tariic.

A massive hairy bugbear hand caught her wrist and squeezed. Ashi hissed in pain. The paper ball fell. The bugbear—one of three who surrounded her, loyal servants who had been deafened to preserve secrets spoken in their presence—glanced at Tariic, who gestured casually. The bugbear’s grip eased. Ashi slipped her hand free. Her wrist throbbed, but she refused to give Tariic the satisfaction