“Lowan Vigeles and the Lady Rosanda,” the major-domo announced to her relief.
There was still time before all hell broke loose.
She squeezed her cousin’s arm fiercely, not wanting to hurt him, knowing it was
too late to avoid it. “Cousin, do you have it in mind to marry that Beysib
bitch?”
Kadakithis pulled away in irritation. “Chenaya,” he said, “I regret that the two
of you have taken such a dislike to each other-“
She cut him off. “No games, Cousin. I’ve seen how you two look at each other,
and I know how she feels. But I can’t-“
It was his turn to interrupt. “Are you disappointed because I haven’t amassed
some kind of army and ridden north to reclaim the throne from Theron?” She had
never heard him sneer before, and it startled her. “Do you think I’m a coward
because I’ve sequestered myself here in Sanctuary-“
She put a hand over his mouth to stop the ugly accusations. “Of course not!” she
snapped. “I know better than you the extent of Theron’s power and the length of
his reach. You’d be raw meat for Theron; he’d chew you up if you rode against
him.” She swallowed hard and cast another glance at the entrance. “But no matter
who sits on the throne, Ranke must still be preserved. And Sanctuary is part of
Ranke, no matter how many Beysib ships sit in the harbor or how many of
Shupansea’s fish-eyed relatives move into the Palace.”
She pressed his face between her hands, hoping in her heart of hearts that he
would someday forgive her. “But you can’t marry her, Kadakithis. I can’t let you
marry her. Shupansea must never gain any legitimate claim to this city. A guest