What do you think?
Rate this book


398 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2016


["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>


Though the dance was for the malek and his heir and a chosen few others to view, the celebration would include everyone who could be reasonably crammed into the extensive palace grounds. Opulence and extravagance were but poor cousins to the display planned for that remarkable occasion.
“That was a hand woven tapestry,” he informed Kyril. “A carefully crafted piece of art that probably took months to create.” “And I,” Kyril reminded him, “am an unshaven, uneducated mercenary. An unwashed barbarian. A foreign idiot and”—he shot a look at Brenna—“a lout. I wouldn’t know art if you smothered me with it. I am merely protecting you as you have hired me to do.”
“I am a princess,” she told him loftily, “and I decree that you are to call me Lani. And as you are merely a subject, you will obey. Also,” she continued, “because I am a princess, I can have your head cut off whenever I choose, no matter what you call me.” It was not true, but it amused her to pretend.
It was Janard’s turn to smile. A very small smile. Kyril suspected the man did not smile, or laugh, very often, except when serving deadly drinks to unsuspecting visitors. Being right-hand man to a dictator who had run mad was probably not a very amusing job.
A roving vendor with a deep tray of jewels, naked to the waist and dripping with his own wares, called out in another [language], guttural consonants rasping out of a throat wrapped in a king’s ransom.