She’d felt sick from the moment she’d received the summons that she was to perform for the consul and his guests.

Lying about her past was easy. Sleeping with Janek was easy. Bowing her head before the consul was easy. But it was a bitter thing to offer something she loved for the pleasure of people she hated.

She’d been half-tempted to ignore the summons. There were no chains on her feet. She could leave the Keep, walk down the long winding road past Shadow Point to the docks and take the first ship away from Erys. There was nothing stopping her but stubbornness and pride.

And hope—hope that she would find some clue telling her where she could find Dev, hope that she would pick up some scrap of information that would help her people. Hope was a hard bond to break. It was stronger than any shackle that might keep her from running.

Smoothing her expression, she turned the corner and stopped before the heavy wooden doors. The guard’s gaze slid over her with oily appreciation.

She forced a smile to her face. “Are they ready for me?”

The guard nodded. “Past ready. He called for you nearly a quarter of an hour ago.”

“I just received the message.”

The young pages were frightened of Janek and didn’t like to come to his room. She often received messages late or not at all. And she was to blame for the lapse, of course, no matter that she had no control over it. Taking Janek as a lover had proved more complicated than she’d anticipated.

The guard opened the door, and she entered the room with downcast eyes. The room was overwarm. Unlike Janek, Serat preferred to seal out the elements. There was a blazing fire in the hearth even though it was approaching midsummer. Braziers had been set in the corners of the room, doused with fragrant oils whose scents were unfamiliar. Above, magelight glittered beneath the high ceilings like stars.

Once, the chieftain of the Cormic clan had heard petitioners here. The clan had celebrated feast days, weddings and funeral watches in this room. Some of the clan had died here after locking themselves in during the final assault on the Keep. There was no sign of any of that now. The stone walls and floors had been scrubbed clean, the old tapestries burned. Everything had been cleared away except for a single long table near the fire where Serat now sat with the delegation from the capital.

Dressed in silks and glittering with gems, Serat appeared the picture of Ghadrian nobility. He was slender and refined, with sleek black hair, bronzed skin and the dark blue eyes of the desert people who’d founded the empire. The consul was an important man, wealthy and well connected. Not only was he related to the imperial family, he was also said to be a close friend of the Archmage himself. Perhaps that was why he looked so cozy with his head bowed toward the elderly mage at his right hand.