“Would you like to smell my bed?”
Pijuan’s slimy gaze flickered to Janna and down the line of felanas. “I have other methods.”
His mother sniffed. “What would you like to know about Klymeni Merona?”
“Was the marriage ever consummated?” Pijuan looked around the hall.
Hundreds of people were there. He’d tried to speak to all of them at least once since he’d gotten back. Had he managed to instill any degree of loyalty in that time? It was almost impossible to believe. He’d been a fuck-up before he’d left, and he’d come back and flipped everything on its ass.
Pijuan clicked his boots together. “The first person to step forward with information will be given an estate in the country.”
The hall was silent.
Jeor shifted slightly.
“A large estate. With a vineyard attached.”
Tor was vaguely aware that Janna had Klym’s holo-cam. She was holding it up surreptitiously.
Fandig entered through a side door.
Windio through another. They met his eyes and nodded stoically.
The armed guards of the house slowly shouldered their way in, drawn by the hovers as they’d arrived.
They were all dressed for battle. He’d give anything to be able to let that happen. They could cut through these untried soldiers. He didn’t doubt it for a minute. One good man could take down ten in battle. But there were civilians around, and their lives were on him.
Being regio sucked. Ten years ago, hell a year ago, before Klym, he’d have pulled out his sword, let her sing, and died a happy man. But now, there was too much at stake, more lives than just his, and no way was he dying without having slid inside Klym at least once.
He pulled in a long breath and let his hand drop from the handle.
Pijuan looked around, his fingers flexing on that golden handle. “Two estates in the country, a personal barge, and five thousand yenna.”
No one spoke.
“Ten thousand yenna to anyone with proof that the selissa was a fraud.”
A felana stepped forward. One of the ones who’d belonged to Dillan. Kiava, maybe? Tor couldn’t remember.
His heart clenched.
His mother stiffened beside him.
“I knew the selissa,” said the felana. “I sat with her that first night. She spoke of how dedicated and thorough Tor was in bed.”
There was a smattering of laughter around the room.
Monna smiled. “Tor took her up to bed as soon as dessert was served. They made love in their room. We heard them.”
Another felana stepped forward. “It’s true. I heard them too.”
The steward cleared his throat. “She could barely walk the day after she got lost in the riot. And his scent was all over her.”
All these people who could have forsaken him, who didn’t know him as regio yet, hadn’t had time to learn to respect or love him, standing up for him—standing up for Klym.
Pijuan’s face flushed, and his fingers tapped on his sword.
Gaspart cleared his throat. “I never saw her without his mark.”
“Marks aren’t proof of consummation.” Pijuan’s boots clipped as he strutted to the center of the hall. “Twenty thousand yenna, and a lordship.”
Monna stepped forward, small and plump. “He threw her over his shoulder and kissed her in the middle of the hall. I saw them. Laughing and carrying on.”
Janna cleared her throat. “She loves him.” She met Tor’s eyes. “She does.”
Tor sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the holo-cam in her hands. He’d seen it in Klym’s hands so often. He’d never really looked at it, though.
She’d left it behind? Why?
Where was she?
He stared at the holo-cam, imagining a thousand things he could have done differently. Carried her up to their room the night she’d come back with Sanger, made her his then, or the following morning, stayed with her instead of going to the field to see his men. Told her he cared. Told her about the treaty with Argentus. Not taken her from Frigorria in the first place. Asked her to come, begged her. Anything.
So many choices had led to this point.
“I was there when he found out she was missing in the riot.” Fandig spoke from the back of the room by the doors, the light behind him, his booming voice echoing. “He loves her too.”
Tor stared at the beady-black eye of the holo-cam, the wind blowing in his hair, his teeth clenched tight. He should have told her. He’d just expected her to know. She must have left, thinking he’d never cared at all. “I loved her. And if you ask what happens between an Argenti woman and a Vestige Prime, I swear to Vaniiya it will be the last thing you ever ask. No one talks about my wife like that.”
Pijuan gritted his teeth, a snarl passing over his humani face, and Tor let loose with a long, slow Prime growl of his own, complete with raised hackles. “I dare you, Pijuan. Pick a fight right here.”
Just over Fandig’s shoulder stood Sanger. Brother. Enemy. Warrior. The wind tore at his shirt and tugged at his hair. He tilted his chin up, ever so slightly.
Solidarity. Nothing more and nothing less. I’m here. I’ll fight if you need me.
Tor nodded back.
I can deliver Didgermmion.
Pijuan’s upper lip lifted in a sneer. “I’ll be back.”
Tor nodded. “Please do.”
There wouldn’t be a fight. There couldn’t be. At least not yet. But soon. Tamminia and Didgermmion would rise up. The Alliance would fall.
And for now, his people had just proven something. They trusted him. Enough to keep his secrets. He wouldn’t let them down.
It would take Pijuan weeks to cut through Alliance legalities.
When Pijuan came back, he’d find Torum TaKarian, Regio of the Roq, backed by his people with a proven selissa by his side.
As Pijuan and his army loaded into their hovers, he inclined his head at Sanger and jerked his head toward the door.
Sanger disappeared.
Tor closed his hand around Janna’s upper arm. “I
