“Look at the bull elks!” Kem tugged excitedly on Elen’s arm. “They’re not wearing imperial harness so they can’t be from the imperial army. Do you think they’re part of the levy to assist the engineers? They must be, because it doesn’t make sense for elk riders from Woodfall to come this way since the road is blocked.”

The elks were being held by grooms as their riders dismounted. Seeing them up close was a kick in the gut. Elen stopped, gulped, fought for a breath.

“Aunt?” Kem’s voice reached her as if from a great distance down the drifts of years.

A cold shock like plunging into an icy lake spilled down her body. Her gaze stuck on the tallest of the riders, a man with brawny shoulders and hair gone gray beneath a lord’s golden circlet. It couldn’t possibly be him, not after all this time.

Relia’s brother came up beside Elen, best brass mug in hand. “Lord Duenn! Your ale!”

The man turned toward the sound of the lad’s voice. Before Elen could duck aside, could conceal herself behind the doorman, he saw her. He pointed with his lord’s whip. His shout bellowed above the commotion in the yard.

“Thief! Murderer! Arrest her at once!”

16 A FALSE AND ROTTEN HEART

“Kem,” she said in a strangled voice. “Run.”

All that came out was an unintelligible croak. Kem stared at her in confusion. By then, it was too late. Lord Duenn strode over with his personal escort crowding around him. None drew swords, not in a Halt and not without the intendant’s permission, but the speed with which they surrounded her was all the weapon they needed. She could not move.

Lord Duenn loomed before her, eyes crackling with fury. He drew his whip, raised it to strike her. She braced for the impact.

Before the whip could fall, Kem stepped in front of Elen. He set hands on hips and stuck his chin forward, a tall youth with a big-boned frame very like that of the lord he now faced.

The lord aggressively prodded Kem in the shoulder with the thong of the whip, and when Kem shifted only a tiny bit, the man drew his arm back to strike. But then he paused, examining the boy.

With a dumbstruck expression, he lowered the whip. “Holy Heavens! This must be Kema! You look very like your mother. Same hair. Not as pretty as her, but put you in a decent gown and do up your hair properly with jewels, and I can negotiate a lucrative marriage for you.”

“My name is Kem, so Declared at the imperial shrine,” said the boy with the patience he’d practiced for the first year after his Declaration.

Lord Duenn slapped him.