Page 40 of The Uncrowned Prince

This face… She had seen it before.

Senaya—if that was truly her name—took a meandering route across the city, moving at a brisk pace but not running. Running would have made her look suspicious, and instead, she simply looked like a woman with somewhere important to be.

It did not matter to Karreya—she was patient and could follow in silence for days if necessary. She only knew that she must not lose sight of the one person in Abreia who might have a link to her father.

Eventually, the woman seemed to relax a little, as if convinced that she had not been followed. She began to walk faster, arrowing her way straight across a mercantile district and plunging into the streets beyond, most of them lined with tall, narrow tenement houses. Slipping into an alley between a pair of them, she darted down a dark stair, looked around her briefly, and then disappeared through a nondescript wooden door.

Karreya considered her options. It would not be difficult to locate the other exits, or to search the building, but she did not care to alarm the other residents. And she did not want to waste any more time. The direct approach was generally frowned upon at the Enclave, but sometimes—even Madame Inci could admit—it was actually the correct one.

And even if the older woman had laid a trap for her, if Karreya could not escape it and still get her answers, she would not deserve them.

Using window ledges and drainpipes, she made her way from the rooftop down to the alley, drew a dagger, and tested the door Senaya had disappeared through.

It opened with a slight squeal and Karreya darted through the moment she realized her presence was not likely to go unnoticed.

She could not have been more surprised by the interior. The space within appeared to be a home—a small, cozy room lit dimly by two lamps. It contained a pair of worn but comfortable chairs, a woven rug on the floor between them, a table, and a tiny kitchen with a shelf full of dishes, pots, and mugs.

And standing beside the table, her golden brown eyes filled with resignation, was Karreya’s quarry. One hand gripped a dagger—a plain, straight blade with a worn, leather-wrapped hilt—and the other was at her chest, holding something in tightly clenched fingers.

“I thought she was finished sending her minions after me.” In the marketplace, the woman’s voice had been low and resonant, but now it seemed hollow. Old and weary unto death. “Whatever your orders might be, know this—I will not return alive. Nor will I give you information. I am aware that your kind do not know the meaning of mercy, but it will at least save you time to understand that I will not break. Whatever you think you have seen, I have seen worse, and I know well what your training has been. Save yourself the effort and the mess, and end my life quickly. Unless you have by some miracle retained some scraps of honor, you can salvage your reputation by reporting to your mistress that I died by my own hand before you found me.”

Karreya cocked her head. This was not the reception she had expected. “I have no interest in your death,” she stated flatly. “I merely want to know who you are.”

Senaya did not move. “You think you know already, or you would not have followed me.”

“Nor would you have fled the market if you did not see something that frightened you.”

“And an imperial assassin is not frightening enough?” Senaya accused.

“No. Not for you.”

They held one another’s gaze for a long, tense moment, before Karreya reached beneath her cloak and retrieved the portrait. She held it up where Senaya could see and watched as the blood drained from the older woman’s face. The dagger clattered to the floor, and her hand flattened to the tabletop, holding her up as her knees threatened to buckle.

“Where did you get that?” she whispered, but something in her eyes suggested she already knew the answer.

“This is my father.” Karreya did not relax her vigilance as she observed the other woman’s reactions. “He disappeared when I was still a child, and I believe he is here, in Abreia. The medallion he wears is the only clue I have, and I was told by a young thief that he once tried to steal a similar one from you.”

The hand clutched at Senaya’s chest seemed to tighten momentarily before her fingers uncurled to reveal a nearly identical medallion hanging around her neck.

It was Karreya’s turn to feel staggered. Her memory had not betrayed her, but of all people, she had never expected to find… Scarcely remembered emotions raged through her, ending in a sort of bitter curiosity.

“I asked about you for years,” she burst out. “After you abandoned your duty and responsibility, after you destroyed your honor, even then, I wished for you to return, but my grandmother said…” She could not finish the sentence.

“Destroyed myhonor?” Senaya spat the word. “There was no honor in what she wanted me to become.”

Wait, that didn’t seem right…

“What did Grandmother want from you?” Karreya asked cautiously.

“I would hazard a guess it’s the same thing she wants from you.”

“Then…” Karreya’s thoughts whirled. “Your portrait. That is how I recognized you. It was hidden in my father’s chamber, and in it, you wore the same medallion he did. I assumed you were my mother, but my father would never talk about it. He never even told me your name.”

Senaya’s face seemed to soften slightly. “Oh, child, no. I am not your mother. Whoever she is… You would do well to forget her.”

Karreya felt curiously bereft—a strange reaction under the circumstances. She’d concluded years ago that her mother was dead, so why should it bother her now that she hadnotfound her?

“Then who are you,” she demanded, “and why would my father keep your portrait?”

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